


Stigmata

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared Padalecki is a tattoo artist in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania living a carefree party life until a twist of fate makes him a messenger of God-a God he wants no part of nor believes in either. Father Jensen Ackles is a priest and a scientist, who after years of disproving miracles across the world is jaded. When their worlds clash, they find themselves faced with a truth that will either destroy them or unite them in a way neither expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the lovely lj community reel_spn . By the time that I came up with this bunny the deadline had passed for entering the challenge, but it demanded to be written neither the less. Well, that, and my wifey crazyjoyfulgirl and my J2 harem mistress winchestergirl (who also did the wonderful banner) insisted on naughty J2 priest action. *snickers* 
> 
> My story follows the original movie closely and the dialogue is damn near and at times identical in parts. If you haven’t seen the movie-you need to! It stars Patricia Arquette (Medium, NBC), Gabriel Byrne, and Jonathan Pryce in the main roles and is both visually and musically gorgeous. It’s in my top five movie-list of all time. 
> 
> Stigmata (the movie) is owned by MGM Entertainment and the original screenplay was written by Tom Lazarus and Rick Ramage, and produced by Frank Mancuso, Jr.

 

 

Belo Quinto, Brazil  
August 27, 2007

Morning sunlight painted the peaks of the mountains an ethereal gold and skimmed across the dark waters of the small lake that bordered the mountain village of Belo Quinto. At this early hour, the denizens of this place were just starting to rise and the silence of the night still clung to crumbling walls that surrounded the main center of the village. Moments like this made the pain bearable to the old priest as he sat hunched over his rickety wooden desk. His fingers curled painfully around the old-fashioned fountain pen as he scribbled desperately in the journal before him.

He understood that his time was near, but he still had so much to accomplish. A cramp in his palm caused his fingers to spasm and he dropped the pen his other hand seeking out the rosewood rosary he’d carried since the day he’d left the seminary. Eyes squinted in pain he wrapped the delicate beads around his gloved hand and pressed his chapped lips to the crucifix that swayed in the faint morning breeze.

Soon, he thought as his eyes drifted shut against the bright light that pierced the shadows.

 

Two Weeks Later

The narrow dirt streets of the village had filled with mourners, the faithful, and pilgrims from neighboring villages as far as thirty miles away. News of the death of Father Singer had spread at an amazing rate, but what had spread faster was news of the miracles. Now this tiny village, overrun by the desperate, the deluded, and the downtrodden all who sought a miracle of their own, was benefiting from the death of their priest just as they had benefited from his life for the past twenty-five years.

Among the faithful stood a young man who was both a doubter and a believer, his sharp moss green eyes shaded by a pair of wire-rimmed aviators from the late morning sun as it burned away the last of the mist that had swirled down from the mountains. His gaze tracked the procession of white clad women carrying a huge primitive crucifix, the visage of Jesus twisted in agony. The Council wouldn’t be happy with him, but the lure of the stories he’d heard in Rio had been far too seductive to a curious man. Careful not draw too much attention to himself, he wove his way through the crowd. His destination was the church, whitewashed adobe walls a beacon in the bright sun that was the center of the village of Belo Quinto.

Bare-footed children with dirty faces and ragged clothing darted in and out between the pilgrims and the young man shook his head in amusement. Even at times like these, there was no way to avoid those that would use the devotion of the faithful to line their own pockets. What bothered him the most though was the fact that the adults used the children, sending them out in droves to work the crowd. Despite his own feelings on the subject though he wasn’t here for that, actually he wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

Drawn from his thoughts by the deep toll of the church bell calling the villagers to worship, that drowned out their voices as they sang the praises of the Lord, he wondered why he still didn't feel that same devotion. The pilgrims slowly made their way into the sanctuary as he followed the weight of his backpack, and his camera bag at his hip comforting in some way he couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps, they were the last vestiges of the life he’d imagined for himself when he was in college. Who really knew to be honest? Among the faithful, he spotted children with wings constructed of cardboard and other materials, their sweet honest voices filled with joy as they danced through the crowd and he wondered again if he’d finally discovered what he’d been seeking since joining the church.

As the flood of pilgrims thinned out he caught his first glimpse of the interior of the church of Belo Quinto and he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was beautiful even in its aged and worn condition, the tiles of the floor faded by generations of feet, paint peeling from the rows of simply carved pews, and the domed ceiling covered with detailed Biblical murals, their colors faded to a soft glow. All of these things he registered, but the thing that he’d sought nearly did him in.

A statue of the Virgin Mary carved from a single piece of marble it seemed. She stood nearly six feet tall, her face lifted in adoration of the heavens, and tears of blood welled from her carved eyes. Scarlet trails, still wet from what he could see, trickled down her snow-white face, pooled in the crevices of her sculpted robe, and overflowed over the edges of the pedestal on which she stood. Around the base of the pedestal, bundles of flowers lay stacked along with woven baskets of bread and fruit as offerings to the miracle that had brought him here. A few feet to the right of the statue, an altar stood covered with candles of every shape and size, their flames dancing in the shadow of the weeping statue.

“Você é o investigador?”

He glanced up to see a young priest with wide dark eyes and he nodded as he fell into the cadence of Brazilian Portuguese. “Sim.”

A look of utter relief crossed the priest’s face as he stepped back to allow him closer. “Graças a Deus você está aqui.”

He glanced around curious about everything that had led to this moment. “Você fala o inglês?” he paused and smiled when the priest nodded. “Who is in charge here?” As he turned, he pushed his aviators up on his head.

“Father Singer was.” The priest replied in heavily accented English.

With a deep breath, he glanced to the right where the cause of all this chaos lay just a few feet from the altar---Father Robert Singer. Despite two weeks and a lack of embalming, Father Singer lay untouched by decay in a simple wooden casket, dressed in his rough woven robes, and surrounded by fragrant flowers. His gloved hands lay folded over his still chest, his beloved rosary wrapped around his fingers, and a crinkled photo tucked beneath his hands.

He shook his head as a soft whisper reached his ears. Slowly he turned the sound of water dripping overtly loud in the chapel and he tried to place the faint whispering. A chill crept down his spine as the whisper became louder and it changed to a strong wind that swirled through the room, the candle’s flames danced, and then went out. The pilgrims watched with reverent eyes and he watched as well through narrowed eyes as the wind died down. A silence descended over the congregation and for a moment the air didn’t stir and not a soul moved.

Just as sudden as it descended the silence ended in an explosion of wings as a cloud of doves rose up from the base of the statue. Each and every member of the congregation most of them elder women, crossed themselves and lowered their eyes to the floor. The doves vanished into the darkest corners of the curved ceiling as the sound of their wings faded and he glanced up with shock-widened eyes. From the shadows, a storm of delicate white feathers showered down over them. Their downy softness caressed his face and as he watched, the faint whisper returned and before his eyes, the wicks of the candles lit themselves. As the last of the feathers drifted to the floor, he wondered what he’d just witnessed.

From the back of the pews the voice of a man rose, deep and demanding, “Olhe! Quantas provas mais você precisa?”

Ignoring the peasant’s question, he turned back to the statue, and pulled a handheld digital recorder from his pack. He flicked it on with his thumb and lowered it to the cold marble of the statue’s pedestal avoiding the congealing blood at her feet. Carefully he went ahead with his examination of the statue his back to the congregation and his mind focused on the job at hand. He paused only to glance at the worried priest. “Has the statue been removed from the church for any reason?”

The priest shook his head, a tremor in his voice as he replied. “No. The statue she start to cry the day Father Singer died, the day the doves came back. The people of the village they love Father Singer.”

With a curt nod, he removed a clear tube and a swab from his bag. He leaned in and gathered a sample of the blood tears from the base of the statue his brows drawn together in thought. From the crowd behind him another voice rose up, a woman this time.

“As lágrimas da Mãe são o Sangue de Cristo.”

No matter what they had to say about this supposed miracle, he knew that he had to remain logical in his pursuit of the truth. He motioned to the priest to join him and squatted down next to his pack to tuck away his samples. “I suggest you clear the church.” He whispered as the priest knelt next to him. “I have to crate up the statue.” He stood up and moved away to begin to take photographs of the statue and its surroundings.

Eyes wide the priest stood and followed him as he slipped into his native Portuguese. “Embalar?” The congregation gasped in shock behind them and began to chatter excitedly amongst themselves. “Padre Singer nunca permitiria isso.”

He gave them a glance over one broad shoulder, and then returned to his camera. There was no doubt that both the church and the village would fight him on this, but if he were to authenticate their miracle, they would have to give in. As he continued his work, the priest desperately trying to explain how the he could not allow the statue under any circumstances to be removed one of the children slipped from the crowd. The ragged -boy darted towards the coffin where Father Singer lay and he glanced nervously around the church before he reached in and snatched the rosary from his cold dead hands.

 

Central Market  
Belo Quinto

Sherri moved through the market amused at the sight of the children who darted in and out between the stalls, each one trying their best to catch her attention, and draw her to the stall where their parents catered to turistas like her. She hadn’t planned on traveling beyond Rio, but the cruise ship she was on had been delayed in port for a few days so she and one of the women she’d befriended aboard had rented a vehicle when they heard the rumors in Rio.

Belo Quinto although well known locally for its crafts was the center of attention due to a supposed miracle. Of course, Sherri wouldn’t be able to share this story with her son back in Pittsburgh simply because he no longer believed. She and his father had raised him in the Christian faith. When they’d lost Terry, her husband and the father of her three children, six years ago to a drunk driver, things had changed. Their youngest son, eighteen at the time, had never recovered from the loss. He and his father had been close, but afterward he’d dropped his plans to attend American University in Paris, packed a few things, and traded in his plane ticket to Paris for a bus ticket to Pittsburgh and a wad of cash.

A young boy ducked in front of her and held up a beautifully carved rosary, his accent thick and his English stuttered. “Ma’am? This Father Singer’s own rosary…”

She smiled and reached out to wrap her fingers in the rosary. “Oh, my how lovely.”

The vendor behind her, whose wares she’d just been browsing, spoke up, accent thick, and voice filled with disapproval. “No, senhora, you not buy that.”

“No, I like it.” She held the rosary up in the afternoon light. “How much?”

Smiling wide, the boy nodded, and answered. “American five-dollar, senhora.”

Quickly she calculated the exchange rate and passed the boy the money. He snatched it, and then darted away like a hummingbird into the crowded market place, the vendor lifting his fist and shaking it, his face flushed with anger as he yelled at the boy who didn’t even acknowledge his fury. “Você não deve fazer isso! Isso é roubar dos mortos.”

***

At that exact moment, back in the church Father Ackles, Special Investigator for the Vatican, lowered his camera a chill brush of fingers along his spine causing him to shiver. For a moment, he could have sworn he heard a whispered voice and the image of blood in water flickered across his mind before he shook it away. He’d allowed the superstitious nonsense of the villagers to infect his logic. In the two years he’d worked for the Vatican, despite his desire to do so, he had yet to discover a true miracle.

Perhaps there was no such thing, he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

September 14, 2007  
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Friday night was the best damn night of the week as far as Jared was concerned. He loved his work, but being able to just say fuck it and get shit-faced drunk, stoned beyond belief, and know that he could sleep in the next morning was pure perfection. Yeah, that was what Friday night was always about without a doubt. Today had been a long fucked up day at The Steel Gallery, but now it was over and the party could begin.

As soon as he stepped out the door into the unseasonable chill of the mid-September night, he shook out a Marlboro Red, cupped his hand around it to protect it from the misty rain, and lit up. The first drag of bitter smoke into his lungs caused his eyes to roll back in his head in pleasure. Rosenbaum might be the boss, but he was the ultimate ass when it came to smoking. Hell, over half of their clients smoked, but Rosie didn’t give a god damn one way or another. With a sigh, he exhaled a series of smoke rings, and thrust his tongue out to break the last one, the waning light catching on the silver barbell through his tongue.

Tugging his worn army jacket around him, Jared headed down the street, his long legs eating up the concrete as he headed to the train station. He rolled his eyes at the look of disgust two elderly women gave him as he mounted the stairs to the platform. It drove him nuts that people never bothered getting to know him before they made judgment calls. They never seemed to be able to get past the deep magenta streaks in his dark shaggy hair much less the tiny open silver loops in both his ears. Hell only knew what they would think of the elaborate Celtic triskele at the base of his spine or the Japanese character meaning strength tattooed above his belly button where the silver bar ran through. He had a hard enough time explaining it to his mom back in Texas.

He doubted that most of the strangers who leveled their disapproving glares at him would believe that only six short years before he’d been a yuppie teenager or whatever it was that people called it now. That was another life though, another time and that Jared was a thousand miles and some metal ware away. Hell, he doubted that he’d ever be that kid again. With a shake of his head, he looked up as the door to the train slid open and he wove his way through the evening crowd. There were too many self-righteous so-called religious people in this world, he thought, considering there was no such thing as God.

“Yo, Paddy!”

Jared lifted his gaze at the boom of his best friend’s voice bouncing off the metal walls of the train and rolled his eyes again. How he’d ever made friends with Chad was beyond incomprehensible. Chad was one of those guys who would fuck anything that was willing; male or female he didn’t give a damn as long as he got off in the end. He wasn’t short, but next to Jared, he looked like one of the Munchkins from Oz---Wizard of not the prison drama. That thought caused Jared to snort loudly and Chad gave him his best pissy face as he dropped into the hard plastic seat next to him.

“You coming to the club tonight, Paddy?” His eyes narrowed. “Cause I heard Chris is coming and we know how you and Chris are when you’re both coming.” Chad smacked his lips and moaned in a fashion that had the mother of two across the aisle considering whether she needed to call the security officer at the front of the train car.

“Chad,” Jared grumbled in a tone of warning, “…this is a public place.”

A snicker slipped from Chad’s lips as he leaned back, arms stretched out along the back of the seat as the twilight washed Pittsburgh cityscape rushed by, the train clacking along the rails loudly. “Your point would be what?”

Jared elbowed him in the ribs and hissed, almond eyes narrowing in annoyance as he leaned into Chad bodily. “Chris and I are not together.”

“You’re fuck buddies.” Chad yawned.

“Damn it!” Jared snapped, ready to throttle Chad right there. “We are not fuck buddies!” he growled.

This time a snort vibrated through Chad’s chest. “Yeah, whatever, man. I get it---Chris is fucking hot.”

Jared slumped back as he rubbed his palms over his face. “Chris and I have an agreement.”

“Yep,” Chad picked imaginary dirt from beneath one black-painted nail, “…fuck buddies.”

“I give up.” Jared grunted. “Dude, it’s your stop---see ya tonight.”

***

When he’d first came to Pittsburgh he’d had a moment of terror when he’d stepped off the bus in the grungy downtown bus station. He had fifteen hundred in his pocket, a knapsack of clothes, and his laptop, a gift from his father before he’d died. By some chance of fate, he’d met Chad that day and his wisdom that day had impressed a naïve young boy from San Antonio. Jared quickly learned that the last thing Chad ever had been was wise. The people on the street might think he was a weirdo slacker, but he was smarter than they gave him credit for; both book smart and street smart.

He’d discovered this 1930’s high-rise late one night shortly after he’d gotten his job designing tats for The Steel Gallery and decided it would make a good investment. Six months later, he was part owner, and investor in the rehab of the building that stood fifteen stories above the ground into a series of lofts. Jared was the first tenant and he’d made it into a place he was proud to call home. Whistling beneath his breathe he took the ancient elevator to the top floor to his apartment. The nostalgia of the architecture reminded him of what he’d once wanted to do in a bittersweet way. He wasn’t that upper middle-class kid who dreamed of being an architect any longer, but he was happy with his decision to become a tattoo artist.

As he pushed open the door to his apartment, he rolled his eyes when he spotted the brown paper wrapped package atop a stack of envelopes in the floor. He’d forgotten his mother had gone on that South American cruise and she had a tendency to send him care packages when she went on these trips. Since his sister had left for collage, their mother was rarely at home in San Antonio and he got that. His father’s death had resulted in a massive lawsuit that took his family from upper middle class to wealthy, but he’d refused to accept any of the money despite his mother’s best efforts.

Kicking the mail a side he headed for the bathroom and left a trail of clothing in his wake. He needed to get ready for tonight. If Chris were coming, as Chad had claimed, he would be calling shortly. Jared grinned as he stripped off his jeans and hit the power button on the stereo and the rhythmic sound of Chumbawumba blasted through the apartment.

Yeah, Friday was definitely kick ass, he thought as he stepped into the shower.

*** 

Urban Slam was one of those clubs your mama would have had the vapors over and Jared’s present companion on the dance floor was the man your mama always warned you about when you were a teenager. Christian ‘Chris’ Kane was a musician, singer, actor, and any one of numerous other things depending on what day of the week you asked him. There was very little Chris didn’t do and the stuff he did, he did with an intensity that either terrified whoever the flavor of the week was or overcame them with hero worship.

Right at the moment, a local metal band was on stage screaming out their denial of the establishment and Chris had a death grip on Jared’s hips as he ground their crotches together. He glanced up through thick lashes, his intense blue gaze causing chills to creep up Jared’s spine.

“I tell ya how damned hot ya are tonight, Jay?” Chris winked.

Jared let loose a deep growl of laughter and flung his head back, perspiration glittering along his honey gold skin. “Chris, if ya wanna fuck all ya got to do is say so. I ain’t one of your chicks that might need convincing.”

“Okay,” Chris drawled out, “…let’s fuck.” He slammed his hips forward and smirked as Jared’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Ya’ll up for some of that?”

Lowering his gaze, Jared licked his lips, and returned Chris’ smirk in full. “I’m not that impressed cowboy.” Then he darted out of reach and off the dance floor Chris in hot pursuit.

***

It was coming up on one am and the party was still in full swing. At a table in the back of the club, Jared and Chris sat with their usual crowd; Mike the owner of The Steel Gallery, Tom Welling the lead hair stylist, and Chad their metal man extraordinaire. Chad had curled up on a red leather bench seat with his latest conquest, a chick that Jared was sure could not possibly be twenty-one, and was making out like the little engine that could. As usual, Mike was trying to drink Tom under the table in an attempt to get in his pants---it was a Friday night thing. Tonight Tom had invited Allison Mack, the new stylist in training, to join them. Jared got the distinct impression that Mike was yet again going to leave the club alone and disappointed.

“So when are ya goin’ to get an assistant, Jay?” Chris slammed back a shot of Jose’s finest and smacked his lips.

Jared snorted loudly. “When Rosie quits being a cheap ass queen.”

From across the table, Mike lifted his gaze from Tom’s crotch, and yelped like a bee-stung puppy. “I’m not cheap assed!”

“Yeah, you are baldy!” Chad spoke up from where his girl was practically giving him a hand job in the shadows. “Jay fucking makes you a small fortune, and you got nothing better to do than chase Tom’s tight virgin ass!”

Tom’s face flamed bright red and he shifted across the bench closer to Allison. “I keep telling Mike I ain’t gay and he won’t take no for an answer.”

She quirked one delicate brow and hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, right…why would he think you’re gay?”

Laughter rose from around the table as Jared gave Allison a high five. “See that’s what I’m talking about---BURN!”

“Dude, it’s fuckin’ late.” Chris bellowed as he stood. “I got to go to work in the mornin’.”

Turning away from Allison with a seductive smile Jared stood and loomed over all five feet, ten inches of Chris. “You too damned tired to take me home.” He punctuated the sentence by licking his lower lip.

Chris’ eyes went wide as he let out a belly laugh. “I’m tired, darlin’, not fucking dead!”

***

They’d left the club and gotten half way back to Jared’s place when the fine mist of earlier decided to become an all out fury of a storm. Drenched to the skin they managed without too much tripping or flailing to get upstairs to his bedroom, a trail of sodden clothing behind them, and their lips locked in a desperate kiss.

Jared wasn’t one to pull punches with his friends, but he knew somehow that what he had with Chris was just wrong, pure and simple. He’d had the pleasure of meeting so many of Chris’ friends and in that journey; he’d met the guy who belonged with Chris. Jared wasn’t even sure what the dude’s name had been. Dan, Dave, David…something like that, but he’d looked in the guy’s dark eyes and just known that he cared about Chris.

He gasped as Chris yanked his hips up, forcing him up on all fours, and then moaned as his lube slicked fingers pressed inward. A grunt exploded from his lips as Chris worked his body open with the thrust of his fingers and a twist of his wrist. Jared felt his cock grow heavy between his trembling thighs as teasing fingertips rubbed against his prostate and he nearly shot off the bed. For him and Chris this was it---drunken, hot, and quick. There was nothing more to it, but Jared needed more. The problem was in how to tell Chris it was over. It wasn’t as if Chris would understand his motivations, he hadn’t been raised the way Jared had been. Despite everything that had happened, Jared just couldn’t shake that desire in his belly. It was a desire to find and understand what the ultimate truth was, the desire to be a part of something bigger. It was the need to love and experience love. To experience being loved, through someone who accepted him on the purest and simplest of levels was what he’d wanted and dreamed of, but then maybe he was a fool.

For Chris it was just about fucking---raw animalistic fucking. Which in the big picture was a nice way to spend a Friday night, but there was always this empty spot inside Jared and he never seemed able to fill it.

Jared gasped, drawn from his worrisome thoughts by Chris removing his fingers and replacing them with his thick latex sheathed cock in one thrust. “Chris, fuck…sweet fucking Jesus…” he grunted as Chris grabbed his hips and began fucking him like there was no tomorrow.

“That feel good, darlin’?” Chris hissed as he curled over Jared’s back. “Bet you been waitin’ for that all damn week…goin’ to fuck ya so hard ya’ll see the stars and stripes forever.”

Jared rolled his eyes as he rested his weight on one hand, reached beneath him, and curled his fingers around his aching cock. “Anyone tell ya that you fuckin’ talk too damn much, Chris.” He began stroking himself in time with the thrust of Chris’ hips, sweat soaking his hair and dripping down his face as he attempted to breathe.

“Only you, Jay,” Chris growled as he angled his hips just right and---

Well, what the hell do you know, Jared thought, Chris was right about seeing the stars at least.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**September 15, 2007** ****

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

 

Late morning light the color of butter spilled through the nearly floor to ceiling windows of Jared’s loft and slid across the hardwood floor. Jared lay alone on his stomach, long limbs sprawled across the king-sized bed, and the sheets tangled around him. The loft was silent in that moment, but not for long as a faint whisper of air swirled around him and lifted strands of his hair. High above in the rafters, water dripped through the ceiling tiles, rainwater from the storm the night before had seeped through, and the drops landed with a loud plop on the nightstand. On the ledge beyond the window numerous doves sat cooing softly, their wide eyes focused on Jared who lay sleeping just beyond the glass.

 

The sharp loud ring of the phone caused the doves to scatter their wings slamming against one another and the glass. A second ring made Jared groan and mumble as he reached out blindly and searched for the offending phone. His fingers curled around the phone and he pulled it from its cradle, pressing it to his ear. “Morning, mama.” he grunted as he pushed back the sheets and sat up to reach for his cigarettes.

 

“How do you do that?”

 

Jared chuckled. “I’m psychic how else would I know?” He shook a cigarette free, swinging his legs over the mattress, the sheet bunched in his lap. “Besides you have a damn persistent ring.” His mother’s laughter rang across the line and he sighed as he glanced around the loft sure that something wasn’t right.

 

“Well, I just wanted to call and say hello while I was near a phone. How’s my baby boy?”

 

“Where are you, mama?” He flicked open the lighter and lit the cigarette that dangled from his lips inhaling deeply.

 

“Oh, my, this beautiful little village Belo Quinto it’s near Rio.”

 

As Jared exhaled the other line on the phone beeped. “Mama, hold on I’m getting another call.” He leaned over and hit the flash button on the phone. “Hello?”

 

“It’s about time, darlin’.” Chris’ growled over the line. “Where ya been?”

 

Snorting Jared took another drag. “You know I hate it when you just leave. Least you could do is say good-bye.”

 

“Why?”

 

Jared’s eyes drifted shut and he sighed in frustration. “Why? Never mind. Look my mom’s on the other line, Chris. I’ll call ya later.” He hit the button again and exhaled. “Sorry, about that Mama.”

 

“It’s okay, baby. Did you get my package?”

 

Standing up he reached for his robe, slipped it on, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I got it yesterday.”

 

“What did you think?”

 

“Hang on a sec, Mama. I got to switch phones.”

 

Sitting down the phone, he tightened the robe at his waist, and then headed into the hall whistling. His mother wouldn’t let him go until she knew he’d actually opened the package in question. He grabbed the package then moved back to the kitchen, started the coffee machine and reached up snagging the phone on the wall as he rooted for his favorite mug.

 

“Mama, I’m back.”

 

“Did you get everything, sweetheart?”

 

“Yeah, I did.” He sat down on one of the stools around the island reaching for his ashtray.

 

Sherri snorted. “Jared, don’t forget who you’re talking, too. You didn’t open it yet did you?”

 

With a groan, he snubbed out his cigarette, and began ripping the package open. “I’m opening it now, Mama.”

 

As usual, the box contained the oddest little collection of items and as he pulled them out one by one, he chatted amicably with his mother. There was a detailed ivory bone comb, a handful of beautiful postcards, and a carved wooden statuette. As they chatted, he flipped through the post cards while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. Pouring a cup, he laughed softly at a particular joke his mother was rattling off when he saw he’d missed something.

 

“Oh, a necklace…cool.” he reached in the box pulling the string of beads out.

 

“Oh, no, sweetie that’s a rosary.”

 

“Were did ya get it?” He held the strand of beads up and studied them as he sipped his coffee.

 

“Here in Belo Quinto.”

 

Jared dropped the rosary back in the box and refilled his coffee. “I didn’t even know ya were going to go there.”

 

She laughed softly. “I wasn’t, but the ship was detained in port for a few days. So what do you think of the gifts, honey? Do you like them?”

 

“They’re great, Mama.”

 

“Fantastic. I’ve got to go now, sweetie. I need to get back to Rio and I’ll call you again when we hit the next port.”

 

“Sure thing, Mama.”

 

“Love you, sweetie.”

 

Jared smiled. “Love you, too.”

 

He hung up the phone, moved back to the island, and lifted the rosary up, taking a sip of coffee. As he studied it, a strange feeling came over him and his stomach began to twist up into a knot as he sniffed at his coffee. Something wasn’t right, he thought. Before he could think about it further, he felt his stomach convulse and he dropped the rosary. He clutched his hand over his mouth and turned away dropping his mug to the counter and ran for the bathroom.

 

***

 

**September 17, 2007** ****

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

 

Monday morning had dawned far too soon for Jared’s tastes considering he’d felt ill the entire weekend and avoided his friends with a passion. The weather hadn’t made him feel any better, but he’d forced himself to get up and get ready for work. Now he was standing under the awning of Milo’s with Chad where they always met for breakfast.

 

“Can I get two lattes, low fat?” Chad yelled over the pouring rain. Milo flipped him the bird with a smirk and he flipped it right back.

 

“Just one,” Jared spoke up as his stomach squirmed. “I’m fine.”

 

Chad turned to Jared and eyed him. “You ain’t eating either? What’s up man? You never turn down a latte first thing in the morning.” He turned back to Milo and grinned. “Bacon and egg sandwich, too, Milo!”

 

“Naw, I’m cool. I just had a little food poisoning this weekend.” Jared drummed his fingers restlessly against the Formica counter.

 

“Jesus, dude, from what?”

 

Jared shook his head. “Not sure, but my stomach’s still a bit testy.” He glanced up as Milo sat Chad’s latte on the counter. “Can I get a small Sprite, man?”

 

“Sure thing, Jay,” Milo nodded and headed back to curse a blue streak at the grill cook.

 

“You sure it’s food poisoning?” Chad sipped his latte.

 

Jared frowned at Chad. “What the hell is that suppose to mean? What else could it be?”

 

“Come on, Jay.” When Jared’s eyes narrowed, he shook his head. “Look, it ain’t any of my business, but maybe Chris…”

 

“Jesus Christ, Chad!” Jared growled. “Do I look stupid to you? Chris doesn’t get anywhere near my ass without protection. I can’t believe you’re even suggesting that…” his stomach rolled and he took a deep slow breath to calm it.

 

Chad sat his latte aside and reached up squeezing Jared shoulder. “Dude, forget I said anything okay. Hell, you look like death warmed over.”

 

Exhaling harshly through his nose, Jared opened his eyes, and met Chad’s worried gaze. “Let’s just get our tired asses to work already.”

 

***

 

**Vatican City**

**September 17, 2007** ****

 

Father Ackles wove his way through the cobbled streets of Vatican City, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his long black coat, and the collar flipped up against the afternoon chill. He’d just arrived back in Rome the prior night on a red-eye flight so he was grateful that Cardinal Lehne had agreed to an afternoon meeting. As he strolled down the street, three colorful _prostitutas_ began heckling him and he couldn’t help, but to smile.

 

“Ciao bello! Ricerca del tempo buon?” The eldest of the women approached him as he walked past, the younger ones giggling. Just as he reached the corner, he turned and flipped down the collar of his coat to reveal his priest’s collar. The _prostituta_ threw back her head, her laughter boisterous in the sharp air. “L'OH, padre, nessun li preoccupa si qualifica per lo sconto di Vatican!”

 

Cheeks flushed, he smiled wide, and winked before he turned and headed for his original destination, ignoring the whistles and catcalls that followed him. He had far more important things to deal with than teasing _prostitutas_. His trip to Belo Quinto though a side trip had proved fruitful and fascinating. This meeting with Cardinal Lehne was, he hoped, going to go his way and perhaps he would get permission to get the mysterious weeping Virgin statue shipped back here to Rome.

 

***

 

Cardinal Fredric Lehne was a man of deep devotion, his life dedicated to the health of the church in all ways. Blessed with this position in the Vatican, his dream had come true. Although a blessing, it had forced him to look at the church from a different perspective. He’d been amazed by the number of supposed miracles communicated each year to the church.

 

These photos, he thought, were fascinating. All this new technology coming to the forefront and it just made him feel old. He glanced up at the sound of his office door opening and he nodded sharply. “Father Ackles. Welcome back.”

 

Father Ackles nodded back. “Cardinal Lehne.” He crossed the office quickly and took a seat in front of the Cardinal’s desk, settling his briefcase, and coat next to the chair. Reaching in the side pocket of his briefcase, he pulled out a pair of silver-framed glasses, and settled them on his nose.

 

“These are interesting. What’s the trick?” the Cardinal held out the sheaf of pictures he’d been shuffling through moments before.

 

“Well to be honest I don’t know.”

 

Cardinal Lehne continued shuffling the photos. “They probably made a fortune from her.” He selected one of the photos that resembled a negative and held it up. It was a close up of the weeping Virgin’s face, everything dark except the tears that were a pure white. “And what is this?”

 

“Infrared photography, the film picks up changes in temperature.” Father Ackles leaned back. “The statue is marble so it’s room temperature and shows up as dark. The tears show up as white because their warm.”

 

He glanced up from the photo, brows drawn together. “Warm tears?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Cardinal Lehne handed the photos over to his assistant Father Kripke who’d slipped in quietly and Father Ackles gave him a sidelong glance. Father Kripke made him nervous, he was like a sneaky little mouse always skittering about and there was something not quite trustworthy shining in his beady little eyes. Unless of course you were Cardinal Lehne, then Father Ackles was quite sure that he was worthy of your trust.

 

Lifting his briefcase from the floor, he pulled a thick folder out and began to shift through it as he spoke. “I took samples of the tears in question per investigative protocol and I received the lab reports. The lab says,” he glanced up over the top of his glasses, “…that not only were they warm as I’ve reported, but they were blood---human blood.” He held out the report to Cardinal Lehne and tried to calm himself at the look of disbelief in his eyes.

 

There was a moment of silence as the Cardinal glanced at Father Kripke, then he opened the folder from the lab. Father Ackles knew the Cardinal far too well and he knew what he was thinking from his sour expression as studied the report intensely. Up until this point, he’d always proven 99.9% of the cases that he’d investigated were not of a miraculous nature. Father Ackles refused to say 100% since even in science there was a margin for error, but this one was different.

 

“With all due respect Fredric,” he cleared his throat, “…I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t a fake. It’s a freestanding solid mass of stone, and there is no scientific explanation.”

 

Cardinal Lehne remained silent as he spoke, but passed off the file to Father Kripke. He didn’t even bother glancing up as he flipped open another file and began to skim it. “As I am to understand it, Jensen, you were sent to Brazil to investigate the appearance of the Virgin Mary on the side of a building.”

 

“Yes,” Jensen cleared his throat, “…I was, but while I was in Sao Paulo I heard of the statue in Belo Quinto…”

 

“And?” Cardinal Lehne glanced up.

 

A look of confusion flickered through Jensen’s eyes. “What?”

 

“And the face of the Virgin on the building?”

 

Jensen was getting the distinct impression that Cardinal Lehne was pissed about his side trip although the older man’s expression didn’t change. “It’s an oxidation stain from years of rain water running down the untreated sidewalls of the building. It causes an illusion of a veiled woman in the right light.”

 

“Good.” Cardinal Lehne scribbled his signature on a report and shut the folder. “We’ll consider the matter closed. Father Kripke has your next assignment.”

 

He shifted in his chair nervously. “I was hoping that you could send me back to Belo Quinto…”

 

“Why?” The Cardinal’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Well, because I need to do more tests on the statue.”

 

Cardinal Lehne’s eyes widened in surprise, “You mean to tell me that you didn’t bring the statue back with you?”

 

“Yes. I meant to bring it back with me obviously, but then I saw the effect it had on the villagers there it’s amazing to see.” Jensen’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. “This statue…it has become the cornerstone of their faith.”

 

Shifting in his chair, Cardinal Lehne sighed as if he were speaking to a small child. “Jensen, the cornerstone of their faith is the church not a crying statue.” Jensen’s gaze lowered to his hands clasped in his lap. “When you are in the field you are a representative of the Catholic Church and the Congregation of the Causes of the Saints.”

 

His head jerked up and a look of disbelief crossed his flushed face. “I am very well aware of that, Fredric, but I am also a scientist and I observe the facts. And the facts are that this statue cries tears of blood.”

 

Cardinal Lehne pushed up from his desk and stepped around it. “If that is the case, then you are aware of the policy. The statue is to be brought back to the Vatican where we will have expert tests performed by geologists, engineers, and medical examiners. We’ve examined 50 to 60 crying statues in the past 12 months. Not a single one of them has turned out to be anything but frauds.”

 

“I’m aware of that.” Jensen finally spoke up. “I wanted to let you know that in my opinion this one…it’s different.”

 

Fredric paused in front of a framed antique map of the world, his hands folded behind his back, and he refused to look at Jensen. “I’m not going to allow you to go back to Brazil. We will get a geologist down there and then _if_ he sees any reason to we will box the statue up and bring it back here for further tests.” He turned back to them and met Father Kripke’s gaze. “Father Kripke, compile for me everything you can on this church in Belo Quinto.”

 

With a sharp nod, Father Kripke began to gather his papers, and Cardinal Lehne turned away to focus once more on the map. Jensen knew a dismissal when he saw one and he clenched his jaw as he stood from the chair. He gathered his coat and briefcase and turned to leave with a sharp nod.

 

“Thank you.”

Two pairs of eyes watched silently as Jensen crossed the room and opened the door, stepping through, and shutting it behind him. After a few seconds, Father Kripke spoke up. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

 

Lehne crossed the room and settled back behind his desk where Kripke stood stiffly. “Jensen’s problem is that he can’t seem to make his mind up whether he is a priest or a scientist.”


	4. Chapter 4

**September 17, 2007** ****

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

 

“Dude, you’re going to drive yourself crazy about this.”

 

Jared thrust his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and sighed. “Chad…” he grumbled as they strolled down the street, the rain light, and chilly around them.

 

“Just forget what I said this morning.”

 

“I have.” Jared grunted.

 

Chad rolled his eyes his hands flapping in the air. “No, you haven’t. You’ve been all broody emo-boy today and you know how Mike gets when you’re like that.” He sighed. “Look, man, I just like to give you shit about Chris.”

 

Jared stopped so quick that Chad nearly ran into him. “Why?”

 

“Why?” He quirked a brow at Jared in curiosity as Jared narrowed his eyes, looming over him in the dark. “Why do I give you shit about Chris?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Chad shrugged his shoulders, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, and scuffed the sidewalk with the toe of his boot. “I just think you deserve better, man. You’re my best friend, Jay, and Chris…well he’s not really a relationship kind of guy.”

 

Letting out a huff of laughter, Jared turned and headed back up the sidewalk, Chad scrambling after him. “What makes you think I want a relationship?”

 

“I know you, Jay. We’ve been friends for six years, man. You can grumble do the bad boy act all you want, but I know better. I see that look in your eyes when you see couples walking down the street, all happy, and shit. You’re better than that, dude. You deserve better than a part time lover boy like Chris.”

 

Jared sighed and turned back to Chad as they came to the front door of his building. “Chad, I get it, but you need to quit being such a mother hen. I’m fine, just tired. Now go home okay.”

 

“Fine, dude, but I’m calling you later.” Chad offered a crooked smile and Jared rolled his eyes.

 

“Fine, I’ll talk to you later.”

 

With a snort, Chad smacked Jared on the ass, and darted down the street, yelling over his shoulder. “You bet your sweet ass you will!”

 

***

 

Candles of every size and shape stood scattered throughout the spacious bathroom and Jared lay stretched out in the huge claw-footed tub. His thoughts were a million miles away as the hot water soothed his sore muscles, the scent of chamomile surrounding him.

 

Chad was right, he thought, although he’d never let the smug little bastard know it. He wasn’t a one-night stand sort of guy, but Chris was all he had, no matter how annoying he was. Despite what Chad thought, he didn’t know every reason Jared had fled San Antonio. It hadn’t just been his father’s death, although that had been a great deal of it. He’d been in the car with his dad when he’d had the accident. It was that fight, they’d been having, that had distracted his dad. If it weren’t for that damn fight, his dad might have seen the semi that had been making an illegal turn, the semi that had left his father dead and him alive.

 

He sighed and took a bite of the apple clenched in his hand and closed his eyes, Chad’s voice haunted his thoughts as he got lost in the sweet crispness of its texture. There had been that once, he thought, when he and Chris hadn’t used protection, but they’d both been careful. They’d both went to the clinic and had the tests done to make sure. He sat the apple aside, took a deep breath, and slowly sank beneath the steaming water trying his damnedest to forget everything.

 

As he lay there beneath the water, allowing his thoughts to drift, a faint breeze swirled through the loft. The candles flickered, their flames dancing, and a distant whispering filled the room. From the rafters of the ceiling a dove suddenly burst free, its wings flapping wild and loud, and the sound shocked Jared from his thoughts and he sat up with a gasp, water blinding him for a moment. He swiped the water from his eyes and turned to see the dove swoop by him, the movement of its wings causing a chill breeze to caress his face.

 

It swooped up and settled on the top of the bathroom partition, wings fluttering, and stretching as it cooed softly. Jared stared up, confusion in his wide eyes, then the dove rose up, wings spread wide as it fluttered past him again. As Jared’s gaze followed it, a single white feather drifted down from the shadowy ceiling and came to rest on the surface of the water. He took a calming breath and reached out to pluck it from the water. Studying it for a moment, he shook his head and smiled as he flicked it over the edge of the tub. Chad’s stupidity was getting on his nerves, making him jumpy, he thought.

 

That’s when the damp feather hit the floor and Jared’s life took a terrifying turn.

 

***

 

_He screamed in pain as he felt his body pulled by something beneath the water the sound of a hammer echoing through the room._

_Whatever had him---he couldn’t escape. As the hammering sound filled his ears, again, a sharp pain ripped through his wrists and traveled up his arms. He thrashed against the sides of the tub, his leg catching the arch of the bathtub faucet and knocking it off, the water spurting upward like a fountain. As his head went beneath the water for the second time, the first drops of blood welled up and hit the water, spreading out in an echo of his pain. His spine bowed, his mouth contorted in a soundless scream beneath the water, and then he reared up the water sluicing over the edge of the tub._

_Coughing up water he screamed, the image of blood, fear, and pain clear in his mind as he held up his arms. The gaping wounds in his wrists stared back at him, the image of being pinned by thick iron nails so damn clear it terrified him. Then he was falling back, the water cradling him, and the darkness engulfing him._

 

***

 

Sirens ripped through the rain-slicked streets of Pittsburgh as the ambulance pulled into the Emergency entrance; EMT’s slammed open the rear doors of the ambulance as Chad pulled in behind them. He barely got the keys out of the ignition as he leapt from the car, kicked the door shut behind him, and trailed after the gurney that held his best friend. He cursed beneath his breath as he slammed through the doors behind them.

 

All Chad could see was the blood---too much blood. Jared lay wrapped in blankets and his face was pale as death where the sharp scarlet of the blood hadn’t spattered. “Nurse,” he yelled, “…someone tell me what the hell’s going on!”

 

He stuck to the gurney as if he were its shadow. People could say what they wanted about him, but his friends were ultimately the most important thing. He had no family to speak of and they were his family. Jared was a brother to him and seeing him like this made his skin crawl. Around him, the doctors and nurses yelled back and forth, as they slid the gurney into the main emergency area.

 

“Jay, I’m here…I’m with you man!” Chad tried to catch someone's gaze, but all the ER personnel focused on Jared. “I don’t understand, why is there so much blood?!” He yelled over the racket.

 

“Give me a temp right now!”

 

Chad swallowed hard at how limp and out of it, Jared seemed. “Jay! Jay can you hear me?”

 

As the gurney came to a stop, Chad found himself pushed back by the seemingly endless sea of medical professionals. He took a couple of steps back, face going pale, as he heard a cacophony of voices both male and female barking out orders.

 

“Okay, let’s go people 1, 2, 3…”

 

“Get that IV up.”

 

“I want CBC, Electrolytes, and UA…”

 

“Also need a Tox Screen and HCG.”

 

“Get that Foley started and get me a pulse Ox, stat!”

 

A young nurse watched the screen to the right of the gurney, where the others worked feverishly. “Pulse is irregular!” She called out.

 

From the left a male nurse yelled out. “Blood pressure is off the map---195 over 120.”

 

Over all of them Chad could hear the alarm going off and for the first time in a long time he thought about praying. This wasn’t just anyone this was Jay, he thought, his best friend, his brother at heart, and he might be watching him die. He felt gorge rise in his throat and the urge to put his fist through something caused him to grit his teeth.

 

“Change cuffs!” The female doctor called over her shoulder. “Where’s that IV? I need a bolus, saline…”

 

He couldn’t watch this, Chad thought as he turned away to head out, a cigarette crushed between his trembling fingers. He couldn’t watch his best friend die.

 

Suddenly Jared sat up on the gurney, his eyes unfocused, and a tortured scream tore from his convulsing throat. His body wobbled as silence descended over the emergency room, every pair of eyes turning to his blood spattered body. Chad turned in horror at the sound of Jared’s agony, his face blanching, and then he watched as Jared collapsed backward.

 

“I’m calling it, code blue!” The doctor screamed as the monitor went flat line. “Get the paddles! Get some gel!”

 

Just as the nurse prepped the paddles and called for a charge, the monitor came back to life. The doctor glanced up from where she’d been checking Jared’s pupils and her eyes widened. From next to the monitor the young nurse turned with a look of disbelief. “Temperature and blood pressure are back to normal.”

 

The doctor leaned back over as Jared’s eyes fluttered, her hand stroking through his hair, and he sat bolt upright, confusion shining in his eyes. “Who are you? Where am I?” Jared choked out, as his gaze darted around the room.

 

“Calm down, I’m Dr. Ferris, and you’re in an emergency room. Do you know your name?”

 

Jared’s chest heaved with each ragged breath he took. He had no idea how he’d gotten here or for that matter why he was covered in blood. Jared nodded as he watched Ferris take his hand in hers, a pair of sheers carefully slicing through the blood soaked gauze around his wrist.

 

“You were found in your apartment unconscious. Do you remember anything?” She pulled back the gauze and blood spurted from Jared’s wrist. “Oh, Jesus…I need some four by fours over here. We’ve got some very deep lacerations.”

 

As Jared watched Ferris try to stanch the blood flow, a feeling of calm descended over him, and his face relaxed. He couldn’t explain it and he glanced up as the sound of Chad’s voice in the background demanding access to the exam room caught his attention. Another doctor, a young male, was ushering Chad back as Jared caught a glimpse of his best friend. All he wanted to do was sleep, he thought.

 

***

 

“These are puncture wounds, Jared, caused by the entry of a sharp pointed object.” Dr. Ferris explained as she stitched them shut carefully. “Are you in any pain?”

 

Jared sat relaxed against pillows, cleaned up now, an oxygen line still beneath his nose as he watched Ferris, curiosity in his eyes. In the doorway, Chad lingered, his expression one of worry, and Jared offered him a lop-sided smile as he answered Ferris. “No…that’s weird isn’t it?”

 

“Wow,” Ferris glanced up at the nurse through her magnifying glasses, “…it only bleeds when I touch it.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t touch it.” Jared huffed, his brows drawn together in a deep frown.

 

Ferris turned his wrist over showing the nurse. “Both wounds are identical, same size, and shape. He missed the main artery by less than a centimeter.”

 

“You keep saying _He_ , but I didn’t do this.” The frown deepened further as Jared glared at the doctor.

 

Glancing up, Ferris pursed her lips. “What’s happening in your life, Jared? You have a lot of stress at work?”

 

Jared grunted in disbelief. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

 

“Are you having any trouble with a significant other?” Ferris continued, stitching the wounds.

 

Now that was a loaded question, Jared thought. “Yes.”

 

“And that is?” She glanced up.

 

Jared’s lips curled in a smirk. “I’m not very significant. Look, how long is this going to take? I want to go home.”

 

“I believe we need to keep you under observation for at least 24 hours. We need to get a handle on this.” She hummed thoughtfully as she finished up the stitching.

 

A look of annoyance flickered in Jared’s eyes. “There’s nothing to get a handle on.” He huffed softly.

 

Her gaze narrowed as she focused on Jared with an intensity that scared him. “Jared, I’m not going to kid you on this. In a case like this it’s pretty obvious they were self-inflicted.”

 

Jared head jerked up. “You think I did this to myself?” When Ferris offered him a look of skepticism, he rolled his eyes. “Never happen. I love my life, I love being me. Just ask anyone.”

 

***

 

Hours later, after a great deal of cursing and wheedling, Jared got himself released ADA, and Chad drove him back to his loft. The drive was silent and Jared wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say or do, to make that intense emotion in Chad’s eyes fade. When they arrived, Chad insisted on staying although all Jared wanted was to be alone with his thoughts.

 

Jared stood in his bathroom now, fear burning in his chest as he took in the destruction. Water was everywhere, tinged pink with blood, his blood, and candles were scattered across the wet floor in a splash of color against the white tile. The tub stood still filled with bathwater, but the maintenance crew had turned off the water valve on the tub. A bitter taste filled Jared’s mouth as he tried to make sense of what had happened, but he had nothing.

 

“Jay, man, turn-off the light, and come to bed.”

 

He glanced back over his shoulder and blinked. He’d never imagined he’d hear those words come out of Chad’s mouth, but he only had one bed and after what he’d put Chad through tonight, he wasn’t going to ask him to sleep on the sofa. Somehow, he thought he should be laughing at the whole situation, but he just couldn’t find the energy. With a soft sigh, he crossed the room and shut off the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness as he slipped beneath the covers.

 

“Do you smell flowers in here or something?” Chad whispered.

 

Jared inhaled and shrugged. “No, don’t smell nothing, dude.”

 

Chad settled back, arms folded beneath his head as he gave Jared a sidelong glance. “Smells like Jasmine or Hyacinth or something.” He mumbled.

 

“I don’t smell anything.” Jared repeated his gaze focused on the ceiling.

 

Next to him, Chad shifted against the mattress. “You need anything, man?”

 

“No, I’m okay.”

 

“Okay. Good night, Jay.”

 

“Night, Chad.”

 

He shifted to his side, careful of his wrists, and turned his back to Chad. Nothing made any sense, he thought, absolutely nothing. With a soft sigh, he focused on the water that was still dripping from the leak in the roof. As he slipped into sleep he could have swore he saw the water drip up instead of down.

 

***

 

**Vatican City**

**Vatican Library**

**September 18, 2007**

 

Jensen pushed through the door and smiled at the guard. **“I’m here to see Brother James.”**

 

The guard nodded and waved him through into the main library. As he moved through the cavernous room, Jensen wondered if Brother James really enjoyed his time locked away in this library with its endless shelves and vaults of material, not that he had anything against books. After all, he was a scientist first and foremost and he’d spent his fair share of time in libraries. He’d first met Brother James Beaver when he was thirteen at the boarding school he’d attended back in the States. In fact, it was Brother James he’d turned to when he’d decided to join the seminary at twenty. Now ten years later, they both worked in Vatican City and it had been a relief to see one familiar face among so many.

 

As he sat the carton of Pall Mall’s on the desk that Brother James worked at the older man greeted him with a wide smile. “Duty free.” he returned the smile.

 

The elder man stood and grasped his hand in a firm shake, bright teeth flashing through his salt and pepper beard. “Welcome back, Father Jensen.”

 

“It’s good to be back.” Jensen smiled wider as his confidant opened a decanter and poured them both a glass of red wine.

 

Brother James passed the second glass to Jensen and tipped his head, a smirk curling his lips. “God is most definitely good.” He raised his glass in a toast and took a sip. “So, how was Belo Quinto?”

 

Jensen quirked one brow as he sipped his wine. “How do you know about Belo Quinto? I was sent to Sao Paulo.”

 

Chuckling, he waved one weathered hand through the air. “God lives here. We know everything, boy. So how’re you doing?”

 

“Ah, I don’t know.” Jensen shook his head. “I travel around the world investigating miracles and then I disprove them. The real miracle is that anybody believes anything. I don’t know what I’m doing to be honest.”

 

Brother James snorted softly. “Son, none of us _know_ what we’re doing.”

 

“So, what are you working on?” Jensen moved around the desk as Brother James shrugged.

 

“Don’t know.”

 

A frown pulled Jensen’s brows together, his sharp hazel eyes narrowing, and the dim light highlighting the green. “How can you translate something if you have no idea what it is?”

 

“I’m a linguist, Jensen. I translate the words not their relevance.” He closed the folder he’d been working on carefully. “But this one is a 2nd Century Gospel.”

 

“How many is that you’re up to?” Jensen questioned as he paced back and forth.

 

“Oh, fifteen and I have about twenty to go.” Brother James laughed softly.

 

“So, what? There are thirty-five Gospels?”

 

Taking a sip of his wine, Brother James shrugged. “Everyone had a different experience with Jesus and they all wrote their stories down. You see all the Gospels they’re recollections, interpretations, and dreams, each one of them intensely personal.”

 

“And there’s no gospel actually in Jesus’ own words?” Jensen asked.

 

Eyes focused on the swirl of the wine in his glass, Brother James shook his head, “Look, son, we’re all blind men in a cave, hunting for a candle that was lit two-thousand years ago.”

 

“So what’s in this text?” Jensen tilted his head towards the scarlet bound folder on his companion’s desk.

 

James snorted. “I was only given every third page.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Oh, son…it’s the way things work here in the church. They split the most sensitive of documents among all of us, one-third to the Dominicans, one-third to the Franciscans, and one-third to the Jesuits. The actual truth of any document is only known by a powerful few.”

 

Jensen sighed. “That’s typical of this place---isn’t it?” He turned away and moved to the locked gate of one of the archives.

 

“We live in a competitive world, Jensen. The church is no exception.”

 

Glancing down at the heavy lock on the archive gate, Jensen palmed it, his thumb ghosting over its aged surface. “Nothing ever gets out of here---does it?” He dropped the weight of the lock and it clanged loudly causing the nearest guard to lift his head, eyeing Jensen, “Unless of course, they want it, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

**September 18, 2007** **  
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

The rain had never really stopped and Jared was beginning to believe that the weather was a reflection of his own inner turmoil. He’d woken up to find Chad on his way out to work and he’d scrambled to get ready. Chad had been insistent that he take the day off, that he’d let Mike know that he wasn’t feeling well. After fifteen minutes of arguing Jared had gave in, but fifteen minutes after Chad left the maintenance crew had showed up to work on the tub. He’d felt trapped and finally took a quick shower, dressed, and headed out into the rain determined to find his way back to work and reality.

***

“So, Allison, tell us about that hot date you had last night.” Chad demanded as his first client sat down and he laid the tools of his trade out.

Allison snorted as she combed out a section of her client’s hair and began rolling it. “Older guy,” she grinned, “…his family’s from Kansas and they’ve made their money in too many fields to name. Started out with a farm, back in the 60’s in some small Podunk town outside of Kansas City and now they’re rolling in the dough.”

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else,” Tom spoke up from where he was busily razor cutting a young man’s hair, “…but I need a name.”

Before Allison could reply, the door swung open and Jared stepped in, shaking rain from his hair, and eyes. All the chatter immediately stopped and Jared frowned. The looks he was getting were bizarre to say the least.

“Hey, Jay,” Tom lifted one hand and smiled carefully. “How are you?”

Jared chuckled. “Fine a little wet around the ears, but hey what’re going to do?” The others laughed softly, but he could sense the tension in the room, and he raised one brow as he stripped off his coat and hung it on the rack behind the door. “Really, guys, I’m fine.” He was going to kill Chad, he thought, because he knew the little shit had told everyone about the trip to the hospital last night.

“Great,” Mike spoke up from his desk in the back corner, “…then that means I don’t have to call Kristen in to take your spot.” He sighed in relief, “That bitch makes my skin crawl.” Shuddering he sat aside his phone and went back to working on the books.

As he made his way back to his station Jared found Chad in his path, eyes narrowed. “Is it fine for real or is it I’m fine so just leave me the hell alone.”

Jared stepped around Chad. “I’m fine.”

“I hope so.” Chad mumbled beneath his breath, his gaze following Jared as he began setting up his station. “I really do.”

***

Jared was on his third customer of the morning, a young woman who’d just turned twenty-one and was celebrating by getting the Chinese character for _beauty_ tattooed between her shoulder blades. The normal chatter of the shop had been slow to start, but Jared had to give the guys his highest prize for trying. Right at the moment, Allison was describing in detail how her date, of the night before, had eaten his steak. Apparently, he’d growled every time he’d taken a bite. As he finished the final swooping black line, Jared chuckled and opened his mouth to make his usual witty crack.

That’s when he heard the woman scream or rather what he thought was a woman screaming. He removed the used needle disposing of it appropriately, stripped off his ink-stained latex gloves, and dropped them in the bright orange biohazard bag along with the needle. His eyebrows drew together in a deep frown as he stood and headed towards the front of the store, his eyes searching the street beyond the rain-dappled window. As he passed Chad, who was busily talking up a curvaceous 30-something who was getting her nose pierced, Chad glanced up, one brow rising.

“Jay? Hey, dude, what is it?”

Jared held up one hand as he stepped closer to the window and focused his gaze through the mid-day traffic on a single figure. A young woman dressed in a pale blue raincoat stood at the edge of the opposite side of the street, an infant swaddled in scarlet held in her arms. Her gaze was steady as it locked with Jared’s and a sudden flock of doves swept up seemingly out of the street and headed skyward. The woman glanced down in the infant’s face and then back up at Jared from beneath the rim of the raincoat’s hood, her eyes sparkling in its shadow.

As they stared at one another, he thought of that moment in the tub, when he’d seen the dove. Of how he’d felt a chill creep up his spine as if something or someone had tried to impart some message to him, but he hadn’t quite grasped it. He watched as tears trailed down the woman’s face, catching the weak light that seeped through the storm clouds and he wondered what she was doing. The woman lifted her arms, her swaddled infant balanced in her palms, and her arms stretched out as if she were offering the child to him.

His pulse vibrated in his temples and he swore he could hear a baby crying. None of this made sense, he thought. Why was he standing here? Who was this woman? And was she doing what he thought she was? His gaze flicked from the woman to the other pedestrians who moved up and down the street then back to her. He could almost imagine her voice, soft and filled with sorrow, but he couldn’t hear the words. It didn’t matter though.

Up the street, a station wagon turned the corner, wheels skidding on the slick pavement, and a squeal of rubber filled his ears. Jared’s gaze shifted from the woman for just a split second, but only a second and then he turned back. What he saw caused his guts to clench and the gorge to rise in his throat. She was tilting her hands as if she was going to drop the infant into the street, beneath the wheels of oncoming traffic, and Jared lost it. Beating against the glass, he screamed at her, screamed at everyone on the street to stop her, and when no one heard, he was out the door long legs eating up the pavement as he prayed that he’d make it.

Chad was out the door, seconds behind Jared, Tom on his tail as he tried to keep his balance on the rainy sidewalks. All he’d heard was what he thought was _baby_ and then Jared had torn out the door. Both of them ran as fast as they could, but Jared was faster. Chad watched in horror as Jared ducked and weaved through the traffic, horns honking, and tires squealing in his wake. This was insane Chad thought he never should have left Jared alone.

“Jay!” Chad screamed as he barely made it across the front of an SUV its passing leaving a chill on his skin. “Jay, stop!”

Even over all the noise, Chad could hear Jared’s voice. “Stop! There’s a baby! Stop!”

“What the hell is he screaming about?” Tom yelled as he skidded to a halt next to Chad.

“Don’t know.” Chad huffed as he took one final sprint across the traffic.

***

When he reached the other side of the street, Jared fell to his knees and grabbed the scarlet material in his trembling fingers, but there was no sign of the baby. Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled himself to his feet, and paced the edge of the street screaming.

“Where’s the baby?! Where is it?!”

Chad and Tom both arrived next to Jared at the same time. Tom gave Chad a questioning look and Chad shook his head. “I got it, man.” With a quick nod, Tom jogged back across the street and left Chad to pick up the pieces. He took a deep breath and turned back to where Jared was pacing in a circle, a piece of wet, dirty red material twisted in his fists. “Jay? Jay, can you hear me, man?”

Glancing up Jared met Chad’s gaze with red, tear-swollen eyes. “There was a baby,” he choked out, “…a baby and this lady. She…she dropped the baby in the street.”

That wasn’t something Chad expected, but after last night, the world was one fucked up place in his opinion. He grabbed Jared’s face between his palms and forced him to meet his eyes. “Jay, man, listen to me. There ain’t a baby, there ain’t a lady.”

“But…”

“There’s no, baby,” Chad’s voice lowered as he saw the pain in Jared’s eyes. Wrapping one arm around Jared’s shoulders, he leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Everything’s going to be okay, man. I swear it---okay?”

“Chad, there was a lady.”

“No.”

“I saw her, Chad. I saw her and she dropped her baby.”

“It’s going to be okay, I promise. There wasn’t anything there, man.”

Jared turned and met Chad’s eyes, his own eyes begging Chad to believe him. “I swear there was, Chad. I swear.” His voice broke with fear as he tried to breathe.

***

Mike had let Chad take off surprisingly with little bitching, but Chad was damned sure that it was because Jared had scared the hell out of him. Now they were on the train heading back to Jared’s loft and Chad wasn’t about to let him out of his sight. Since they’d left the shop, Jared hadn’t spoke one word, and that in and of itself scared the crap out of him. He’d known Jared for six years and Jared was a person who could talk paint off walls. He was sociable to a fault, but now he seemed closed off as if he weren’t even aware of the world around him.

“Jay?” Chad leaned into Jared’s body. “You okay?”

Jared nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah.”

“We’ll be home soon, dude.” Sighing Chad tried not to worry about the lack of emotion in Jared’s usually lively eyes.

Again, Jared nodded and shifted in his seat, lost in thought. As the train slipped into the tunnel, he frowned and cocked his head to the side. He was sure he’d heard something, a sound similar to what he’d heard earlier at the shop. Leaning forward his gaze drifted down the length of the train car and came to rest on two nuns, their silver crosses twinkling in the flickering overhead lights. He shook his head and leaned back again knowing that Chad was giving him a sidelong glance.

Just a few seconds later, a soft whirring filled his ears and he leaned forward again. This time his gaze drifted to the man who sat across the aisle from the nuns. He looked around forty or forty-five, thick dark hair that curled around his ears, and a neatly trimmed beard speckled with grey. He was a handsome man who at any other time Jared might have flirted with except for one thing. As his gaze lowered, he noticed the collar and he frowned as he leaned back again. The humming seemed to increase and his eyes rolled back in his head as he stood this time.

Chad was on his feet in a seconds yelling. “Jared!”

“Hey, you!” Jared called out to the priest.

The priest glanced up dark eyes studying Jared’s face. “Are you speaking to me young man?”

“Are you Jensen Ackles?” Jared demanded.

“Jensen Ackles?” His eyebrows shot up. “No, my name is Father Morgan.” Jared frowned then turned to glance at the nuns. Father Morgan spoke up and Jared turned back to him. “Can I help you, son?”

“No one can help me now.” Jared growled softly. “I’m fucked.”

He turned back to the nuns, leaned in snatching the silver cross from around the youngest nun’s neck, and snapped the chain. The nun’s soft gasps didn’t seem to even falter him as he turned away throwing the cross up the length of the train car.

“Jesus, Jared!” Chad snapped as he stepped forward.

That was all he could get out when everything went to hell in a hand basket. The overhead lights began to flicker, the train’s brakes shrieked, but they were unable to stop the train that was suddenly rocking as if it were a boat on the stormy sea. The sudden movement tossed the passengers from their seats and Chad tumbled ass over apples as screams of terror filled his ears. Clambering across the floor of the train car, he tried to get to his feet, but every time he thought he had managed it the car rattled violently again and sent him to his knees.

All he could think of was Jared and he searched the chaos as he clung to one of the handrail poles, the sparks from the brakes highlighting everything in a kaleidoscope of sparks. At the center of the car was where he saw Jared and his gut twisted.

Jared had grabbed for the braking strap to steady himself and he desperately was clinging to it although it did nothing to stop the train. Chad watched as Jared stumbled a few steps, grabbed the brake strap on the other side, and grasped it so tight his knuckles turned white. He threw his head back as his fingers tightened and he screamed, screamed as he’d done the night before in the ER and the tiny hairs along the back of Chad’s neck pricked up. He wasn’t the only one that knew something not quite right was happening.

Just behind Jared’s thrashing form, Father Jeffrey Morgan clung to one of the hard plastic seats of the train car and happened to look up as Jared screamed. To his utter disbelief, he saw what appeared to be an invisible force lashing across Jared’s back, his jacket and shirt beneath shredded. Bloody marks covered his long lean back and as Father Morgan continued to watch one after another appeared. Jared threw his head back and screamed repeatedly. Father Morgan crossed himself and swallowed hard as he thought one thing. Especially, after he noticed the bloody gauze around the younger man’s wrists.

Stigmata.

Dear Lord, the boy was suffering from the marks of the Christ.

***

_For a moment, there was nothing but the pain and then he looked up and there was the light. It was so beautiful all Jared wanted was to get lost in its embrace. The warmth was like the sun, but it didn’t burn his skin or blind him._

_Gasping he threw his head back as the whip tore into his flesh again, laying skin and muscle open. His father would save him, he thought. What he suffered was for the sake of the children who he left behind. His suffering would save them. His agony was their salvation. He allowed this to happen because of love---unconditional and pure love._

_He opened his eyes and looked upon the light and the fear, the pain, everything faded until there was only him and the light. Soft whispers teased his ears and he strained to hear the voices that always spoke to him, yet the words were so far away. The light engulfed him and he cried out in ecstasy as he felt himself falling._

***

When he came back to himself, Jared crawled across the cold metal floor of the car and he gasped with each movement. The pain in his back was so incredibly intense he couldn’t focus so he had no idea the train had stopped. All he knew was the pain and the faint memory of a distant light and the sound of the voice whispering to him.

“Jay.”

He rolled his head to the side against the cool plastic seat where it had come to rest. Next to him Chad knelt, a bruise on his forehead, and his lip bleeding. “Chad…” he managed to gasp out as he panted for breath, “…hurts.” He wanted to rest, that’s all he wanted, but the pain was so bad, and he knew that it would eventually fade. His eyes drooped and somewhere at the edge of his graying vision, he could hear Chad’s voice.

“Somebody help!” Chad screamed. “My friend’s hurt!”

Seconds later Father Morgan knelt down next to Chad and the barely conscious Jared. “Calm down, son. I’ll go find some help.”

“Hurry,” he choked out as Father Morgan stood and stepped outside the train. “Jay, man, don’t do this to me again---okay? You just hang in there.”

***

Lying on his stomach Jared hissed through clenched teeth as the surgeon carefully cleaned his back. Beads of perspiration glittered along his forehead as he tried to calm his breathing. He didn’t remember anything beyond getting on the train with Chad and then he’d woken in an ambulance again for the second day in a row. Chad had told him that he’d fell back into one of the windows his back torn to hell, but that he’d be okay. Of course, Chad was a horrible liar and he didn’t believe a word he’d said. He wasn’t sure what was going on to be honest, but if it didn’t stop soon he’d lose everything he fought for in his life.

Jared tried not to squirm as he felt the first stitch threaded through his skin. Fuck all he needed some morphine, he thought as he let his eyes drift shut.

***

 __“Jared Padalecki?”

Jared lifted his gaze to the doctor that stood at his bedside, “Yeah.”

“We’re going to schedule some more tests later this afternoon around four.”

He turned to go and as he did, Jared glanced at Chad who sat next to his bed. Jared swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Did you run an HIV test?”

The doctor paused and flipped open his chart, “Yes, we did.”

Licking his lips nervously he released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Do I…am I…” he fumbled over the words.

“No, the test came back negative.”  
  
Jared sighed as Chad squeezed his forearm in reassurance. He should be thankful that he was negative, but a part of him was terrified. If he didn’t have HIV or full-blown AIDS then what the hell was happening to him?

***

“Take this, all of you and drink of it. For this is a cup of my blood, shed for you, and all men, so their sins may be forgiven. Do this in my memory.”

The soft swish of his robes was the only sound in the chapel as Jensen stepped forward and held out the cup of wine to the first priest that knelt before him. Candlelight flickered off the gold leaf that trimmed the walls and he allowed the history and ritual calm his doubts. Everyone had doubts, he’d tried to convince himself, but the anger he’d shown in front of Brother James was something that drew itself from his dismissal at Cardinal Lehne hands.

He accepted the cup back and handed it to the next priest. “This is the Blood of Christ.”

***

Jared was exhausted, pure and simple.

The battery of tests they’d put him through was fucking ridiculous. First, his eyes, then his ears, and now after taking half his damn blood, he was lying on his back going through what amounted to a brain scan. At least for this one he got to lay still and pretend he was asleep.

“Sleep,” he mumbled as his eyes drifted shut to the hum of machinery.

***

**September 19, 2007** **  
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

Pale morning light drifted through the slats of the blinds and across the pale sheets that surrounded Jared. He was feeling a bit disappointed that no one was there when he woke up, but he was happy when the doctor showed up. All he wanted was to know what the hell was wrong with him and the peaceful smile that graced Dr. Tigerman’s face made him sigh in relief.

"So, what’s the verdict, doc, psychotic, dying, or both?” Jared offered Tigerman a lopsided smile.

“Well, none of the above. Actually, with the exception of the wounds you’ve suffered you’re healthy as a horse. There is another explanation though that has us concerned---epilepsy.”

Jared met his gaze and swallowed hard. “Epilepsy?”

“We’ve run a series of preliminary tests, but all things considered it would explain a great deal.”

The bitter taste of fear filled Jared’s mouth as he looked down at his lap, his hands tightening around the sheets. “But that seems impossible. How can you just wake up one day with epilepsy?”

“You can’t. But you’ve described blunt trauma to the head on more than one occasion, disturbing hallucinations, and you’re hearing voices. Those are all possible signs of epilepsy.”

“So, what do we do now?” Jared whispered his voice cracking.

Tigerman sighed and shifted the clipboard in his hands. “We’ll need to insert electrodes into the upper Neo-cortex.”

He glanced up at the doctor with a terrified expression. “Wait. Just wait a minute. You want to put wires inside my head?”

“Jared, we’re going to do whatever we have to in order to discover why this is happening to you. You hang in there.” He squeezed Jared’s shoulder then turned and left the room.

The idea of having these people poke around inside his brain made Jared’s stomach squirm. He was in pain already and terrified beyond anything he’d ever imagined. Yes, they were doctors, but it wasn’t their head and they couldn’t possibly imagine what all of this was doing to him both physically and emotionally. What he’d seen, what he’d heard, all of it had seemed so real---too damn real---to ignore. 

*** 

Chad snorted as he led Jared through the halls of the hospital, “Epilepsy? You’re kidding---right? These jerks don’t know what they’re talking about.” He’d come as soon as Jared had called him and practically begged him to get him out of this place. “I think you should get a second opinion.”

Just as they reached the entrance, a priest who’d been sitting against the wall stood and stepped in front of them. “Mr. Padalecki…I’m Father Morgan. You spoke to me on the train.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Jared questioned with a glimmer of confusion in his eyes. 

“I’d like to talk to you about what happened.” He smiled softly and Jared noted the deep dimples beneath his beard. 

“Why?” Chad demanded, his eyes narrowing. 

Father Morgan cleared his throat and focused back on Jared. “Do you know what the stigmata are?”

“Look,” Chad stepped between them, “…I have to get Jared home. Thanks.”

As Chad led Jared towards the door, Father Morgan followed them. “I know how you feel, I do, but if you change your mind,” he grabbed Jared’s hand pressing a card into his palm, “…call me.”

Jared nodded, his gaze lowering to the card. “Okay.”

Father Morgan sighed as he watched the two young men exit through the door. In his entire life he’d never imagined that he would witness what he had in that train car. He felt both blessed and terrified in that moment that he’d witnessed the holiest of miracles. As he turned to go, he tugged his coat around him and contemplated what he needed to do now.


	6. Chapter 6

**Vatican City**

**Cardinal Lehne’s Office**

**September 21, 2007**

 

“Ah, Jensen, come in.” Cardinal Lehne waved the young priest through the door. “I think we’ve found your new assignment.”

 

Jensen moved into the cool interior of the office and gave Father Kripke a sidelong glance. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, but when the Cardinal called you, you answered. “I was hoping you had changed your mind about sending me back to Belo Quinto.”

 

“We have no record of a church in Belo Quinto,” Father Kripke spoke up.

 

“What?” Jensen stepped around him and tried to catch his eye. “That’s impossible. There must be some mistake.”

 

Kripke turned his beady little eyes focused on Jensen. “No, mistake, Father, I have checked into it myself. If there is a church in Belo Quinto it is not one of ours.”

 

“And there is no record of a priest assigned to that village either.” Cardinal Lehne stepped closer, a remote in his hand. “This,” he motioned to the television against the wall, “…was sent to us by a Father Morgan in Pittsburgh. It is from the security camera on the train.”

 

Jensen stepped closer as Cardinal Lehne pushed play. A grainy black and white image began to play showing what appeared to be a train car in distress. The image jittered, the people inside the car tossed about wildly, and Jensen imagined had there been sound they would be screaming in terror.

 

“Look very closely.” Lehne pressed pause and motioned to the screen.

 

Stepping forward Kripke pointed out the figure of a tall young man. “Obviously it is some sort of attack, possibly possession.”

 

Jensen slipped his glasses off as he studied the figure. The young man had his back to the security camera and he was hanging onto the brake straps for dear life. The boy’s jacket was in tatters, and his back torn to hell. He leaned in and poked the screen with the earpiece of his glasses. “His wrists are bandaged.”

 

“According to Father Morgan,” Cardinal Lehne moved to his desk and settled in his chair, “…the boy was whipped repeatedly by an unseen force.

 

“How important is this really, Fredric?” Jensen focused on his dark gaze.

 

“We don’t know yet.” Lehne’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Anger welled in Jensen’s gut as he stepped around Father Kripke to face Cardinal Lehne head on. “Then why are you sending me?”

 

Lehne slid a piece of paper across his desk, “Because of this clipping from the _Pittsburgh Globe_.”

 

Jensen slipped his glasses on and picked up the article in question, a crease deepening between his eyebrows. “Twenty-five terrified witnesses,” he read aloud, “…Unexplained wounds, Catholic priest.” He tossed the paper onto Lehne’s desk. “The publicity is unfortunate, I agree, but I’m sure it will have blown over by the time I get there.”

 

“We’re investigating this one.” Cardinal Lehne spoke up, his tone brokering no argument.

 

***

 

**September 22, 2007** ****

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

 

“You know what I heard?” Allison chattered as she shampooed her first client of the day’s hair. “I heard that a Catholic priest said in the paper…”

 

The door of _The Steel Gallery_ swung open and Jared stepped in pushing back the hood of his coat with a soft sigh. “Mornin’ guys.” he smiled although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

“Hey, Jared, man!” Tom waved.

 

“Jay, glad your back.” Chad glanced up where he was piercing a huge-assed biker’s left ear.

 

Mike glanced up from where he was working on his laptop, “Hey, Jay!”

 

Eyes narrowing for a moment Jared studied all the faces of his co-workers, then grinned as he pulled off his coat. “Hey, I feel like I should be doing a monologue or something.” He hung it up on one of the hooks and waved at Annette, one of his regulars, who sat skimming a magazine next to the front door. “Come on Annette, let’s get going.”

 

A flush colored Annette’s cheeks. “Oh, Jay…I’m going to wait on Kristen.” She nodded back towards the area Jared normally had.

 

Kristen nodded at Jared as she continued working on a twenty-something young man with blue spiked hair. “Mike called me in this morning. Hope you don’t mind, Jay. We kind of thought you’d be out at least a couple more days.”

 

“Oh,” Jared laughed softly, “…sure no problem.” He turned and walked into the back of the shop to drop off his bag and get a cup of coffee.

 

Allison leaned over and whistled at Tom. When he looked up with a frown, she whispered a question softly. “What’s going on with, Jared?”

 

Behind the beaded curtain as he poured a cup of coffee, Jared listened to the conversation, and rubbed at his temple that was beginning to throb. They must think he was clueless or deaf, he thought considering he could hear every word they said.

 

“I told him to get a second opinion.” Chad’s voice reached his ears.

 

“Why would you do that?” Tom questioned.

 

Chad sighed. “They think he’d got epilepsy.”

 

“Well, he doesn’t look so good.” Allison piped up.

 

“Why’s he at work anyway, Chad?” Mike asked. “I thought you said he needed to take…”

 

Taking a deep breath Jared yelled over his shoulder. “Hey, would you guys quit whispering out there!” His hands trembled as he brought his mug up to blow across the steaming coffee. “What is this,” he yelled as he moved around the curtain, “…a god damn church?”

 

He nearly choked on the last word when he met a pair of mossy eyes across the room, a pair of eyes that studied him over the collar of a priest. A nervous chuckle escaped his throat and he glanced around at all his friends. All of them were quietly waiting as he wished he would just sink into the floor and be swallowed up.

 

“Hey.”

 

The priest smiled and shucked his coat off. “Hello.”

 

“Do you have an appointment?” Jared studied the priest through his lashes, color blooming across his cheeks.

 

“No, I don’t.” He turned and hung his coat on a hook.

 

“Well, do you need a haircut or a tat? Maybe you’d like to get your nipples pierced.” Jared smiled in amusement at the way the priest quirked one brow.

 

A soft laugh slipped from between the priest’s lips and he smiled. “Or maybe we could start with a trim and we’ll go from there.”

 

There was an audible sigh and soft murmurs as Jared waved the priest over to Tom’s station. “Come on have a seat. Tom’s really good with a pair of shears.”

 

Tom tipped his head and smiled as he slipped the bib around the priest’s neck. “This should keep you from getting an itchy neck.”

“Thank you.” The priest nodded and met Jared’s gaze in the mirror, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

“So where ya from?” Jared asked as he tugged nervously at the silver loop in his left ear.

 

“I live in Rome, actually.”

 

“Wow…that must be incredible. I’d love to visit Rome.”

 

The priest chuckled. “I suppose it is. And what about you? Are you from here?”

 

“Naw,” Jared stepped around to face him, leaning against the counter, “…I’m from San Antonio. And if I’m not mistaken I hear a bit of an accent in your voice.”

 

“Dallas.” He smiled at Jared. “I grew up in Richardson.”

 

Jared smiled wide. “A fellow Texan, that’s a nice way to start out the morning. I moved here when I was eighteen and now I’m a tattoo artist.”

 

“Tattoos?” The priest quirked his brow and licked his lips. “So you’re an artist.”

 

“Tell my mom that,” Jared chuckled.

 

Across the room, Allison sidled up to Chad who was cleaning his tools. “Am I going crazy or is Jared flirting with a priest?” Chad just shrugged.

 

“What do I call you?” Jared asked. “I feel kind of weird calling a guy I could date _Father_.” His cheeks flushed as he bit his lip. “Not that I could date you, but…”

 

“No, it’s okay. You just made my day.” The priest smiled wide. “Thank you, you can call me Jensen. That’s my name Jensen Ackles.”

 

The smile faded from Jared’s face as he glanced over Jensen’s head and met Chad’s eyes. “Chad?” He mouthed as Chad shrugged and he cleared his throat. “I know this is going to sound strange, but I’ve sort of been expecting you.”

 

Jensen sighed and then nodded without saying a word.

 

***

 

“So you live in Rome?”

 

“Yes, but I travel a great deal. So I’m rarely there.” Jensen nodded at the waitress as she refilled their coffee cups.

 

Jared shifted nervously in his seat. “So, what brings you to Pennsylvania?”

“Well, Father Morgan asked us to come and speak with you, Mr. Padalecki.” He picked up his cup sipping at the fresh coffee and studied Jared over the rim.

 

“Us? Who’s us? I thought you were a priest.”

 

Jensen sat his cup down and nodded, “Yes, I am a priest, but I’m also an investigator. I work for a division of the Vatican called The Congregation for the Causes of the Saints.” He pulled a small recorder from his pocket, sat it on the table, and hit the record button. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

 

“No, go ahead.” Jared shook his head.

 

“What’s your full name?”

 

“Jared Tristan Padalecki.”

 

“And your age?”

 

“I’m twenty-five.”

 

“And which church do you attend?”

 

“I don’t attend church.”

 

“But you are Catholic?” Jensen frowned.

 

Jared shook his head. “No, I don’t attend church because I don’t believe in God.”

 

He checked something off on the notepad he’d been scribbling on, “Well, that’s going to be it for me. That’s all I need to know.”

 

Leaning across the table, Jared brushed his hair from his eyes. “That’s it?”

 

“Yes.” He scribbled a few notes on his pad. “You see stigmatics are deeply religious people.”

 

Jared quirked one eyebrow, “And there’s no exceptions?”

 

“No.” Jensen shook his head as he continued writing.

 

“Why do they get the stigmata?”

 

Jensen sighed and passed Jared a small colored card. “You see when Christ died on the cross, he died with five wounds.” He carefully pointed out each one on the card as he spoke. “Whips scourged his back. There were gashes in his forehead from a crown of thorns. There were nails driven through his hands and feet. Finally a spear was driven into his side.”

 

Biting his lip Jared let his hands slide from the table and into his lap. Jensen had just described two of the wounds he’d suffered, his back, and his wrists.

 

“Throughout history only deeply devout people have been afflicted by these wounds.”

 

“Why?” Jared asked, flexing his hands beneath the table, the wounds beginning to bleed once more.

 

Jensen shook his head. “There really is no satisfactory scientific explanation. An intense spiritual pain haunts all stigmatics. In some ways, they’re affected physically, assaulted by their own visions of evil, and they manifest this battle within their body. The Church regards it as a gift from God.”

 

“A gift,” Jared snorted, “Can I give it back?” He began to chuckle and Jensen’s eyes crinkled in suppressed laughter as Jared turned away, his eyes focusing on the rain beyond the window. He inhaled sharply and turned back to Jensen, his eyes shining. “Father,” he whispered, “…can I show you these and you tell me what you think.”

 

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching he nodded. “Yes, of course.”

 

Jared bit his lip nervously as he lifted his hands from beneath the table and laid them on the table palm up. The gauze was already soaked with scarlet as Jensen reached out taking one of Jared’s huge hands in his. He lifted the gauze carefully peering beneath at the wounds, and then he turned to glance back over his shoulder to make sure once again, no one was watching them. When he turned back around Jared had flipped his hands over palms down and the bloodstains were clearly visible on that side as well. Jensen stared in shock at the stains and then lifted his gaze to meet Jared’s wide glistening eyes. What he saw there was defiance, confusion, and even a hint of fear as he again lifted the gauze.

 

The wounds went through his wrists, of that Jensen had no doubt. Smoothing down the gauze with gentle fingertips, he glanced back up and they stared at one another silently. Jensen was shocked to his core. Never in all his investigations or his studies had he heard of a self-confessed Atheist suffering the stigmata. Before he could say anything to Jared the waitress reappeared, coffee pot in hand.

 

Once she’d refilled his cup, Jared cleared his throat. “So what do you think?” He glanced up through his lashes as he retrieved a cigarette from his coat.

 

“It doesn’t really matter what I think, Mr. Padalecki.”

 

Jared frowned as he lit his cigarette. “What is that suppose to mean?”

 

“It means that officially this isn’t a case for the Church. To say that a self-confessed Atheist is exhibiting the wounds of Christ is a contradiction in terms.”

 

“Really,” Jared growled as he searched his jean pocket, and then tossed a piece of paper on the table with a sharp glance. “I found that on my table the other day. I don’t know what that says, but it’s my handwriting.”

 

Jensen unfolded the paper and studied the writing. “Well, it’s Italian. It says _split a piece of wood and I will be there, lift a stone and you will find me_. It’s actually quite beautiful.”

 

Reaching across the table, Jared snatched the paper from Jensen’s hand. “This,” he shook the piece of paper, “…is not beautiful. It’s a warning.” His voice rose as panic set in. “This means no matter what I do or where I go…”

 

“Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen held up his hands in a calming gesture.

 

“…I can’t escape it!”

 

“Mr. Padalecki, please. I would like to help you…”

 

Jared snorted as he yanked his coat on. “You know what? You know what this is going nowhere! You don’t know what this is! You can’t give me any kind of answer!” He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray and stormed from the café.

 

Turning his head Jensen watched as Jared stormed off across the street, the rain soaking his hair, and tangling it around his face. So young and scared, he thought as Jared turned and glared back at him. He wasn’t sure what it was about this young man, but something about him caused his gut to squirm.

 

***

 

Hours had passed since he’d talked to the priest, but Jared was still angry. He sat at his table, candles scattered all around, the flames dancing, as he spread the books he’d gotten from the local library out in front of him. His hands trembled as he ran his fingertips over the cover of the top book.

 

_An Atlas of Epilepsy_

 

Everything that Father Ackles had told him about the stigmata and that the doctor had told him about epilepsy echoed in his head. As he sat there flipping through volumes on religious lore and medical information he smoked one cigarette after the other, nothing comforting him. Tears welled in his eyes as he searched photos and paintings of those who’d come before him. The words of religious scholars explained their torment and pain from page to page and book to book.

 

After hours of reading his heart, his mind, could take no more and he slammed the last volume shut with a resounding thud.


	7. Chapter 7

**Urban Slam**

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

**September 22, 2007** ****

Music ripped through the club, lights spinning, and sparkling against the dark walls as dancers filled the dance floor. A mass of writhing bodies both male and female undulated to the booming bass and the wild drums. At the bar along the far wall, Chad and the others from _The Steel Gallery_ laughed and raised their glasses.

 

“To Saturday night!” Chad yelled as their shot glasses clinked, “And to me getting laid tonight!”

 

“Yeah!” Tom snorted, “Like anyone would screw you!”

 

Chad turned and caught a glimpse of Jared as he came into the club. Sitting down his glass, he waved yelling over the music. “Yo! Jay! Over here!” Without a word, Jared walked right past them, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Chad frowned at the lack of response and reached out to slap Mike on the back. “Dude, order another round and I’ll be right back.”

 

Jared was lighting another cigarette and settling down at a corner table at the back against the dance floor. His gaze flickered around the club as if he were seeking out something and Chad’s frown deepened as he caught up.

 

“Hey, Paddy-boy! I thought you were going to stay home and get some rest.”

 

“Hey.” Jared offered a tiny smile in Chad’s direction, but his gaze never left the crowd. “Have you seen Chris?”

 

Chad snorted, “Forget about Chris, dude. What’s up with that priest? Believe me he’s all business.” He chuckled as Jared continued to scan the dance floor, but reached out to smack him in the arm.

 

“Hey, can we get two doubles?” Jared waved down one of the waiters. As the waiter poured their shots, Jared snickered. “You know what’s scarier than not believing in God? Believing in him, I mean really believing in him.” A frown creased Chad’s brow as the waiter passed them their shots and Jared passed him a twenty. “Dude, I mean really believing in him is a fucking terrifying thought.” Jared tossed back his shot and snorted as he took a drag of his cigarette.

 

“Man, it’s Saturday night and I think you’re taking things way too damn serious.” Chad tossed his own shot and then lit up a joint.

 

Jared stumbled to his feet ignoring Chad’s attempt to lighten the mood. “’Cause you know if there’s a God he hates me. He’s ruining my damn life.” He tossed back his second shot with an aggravated growl.

 

“Come on, dude.” Chad reached out slapping Jared’s hip, “Everything’s going to be alright.”

 

That caught Jared’s attention and he dropped back into his seat, leaning into Chad’s space. “You don’t fucking get it---do you? I have fucking holes through my fucking wrists! I have slashes across my back! If it ain’t God doing this to me then who the fuck is?!” He turned away, eyes focused on the dance floor once more.

 

“I think you’re losing it, man,” Chad exhaled just as Jared suddenly stood and headed across the crowded floor, “Yo, Jay! Where the hell are you going?”

 

Jared wasn’t more than ten feet away when he suddenly grasped his head and let out an agonizing scream. Chad was up and out of his seat, smoldering joint forgotten and screaming Jared’s name at the top of his lungs.

 

***

 

_He stared unseeing into the darkness, the pain in his head increasing with each heartbeat._

_King of the Jews? Well, then you need a crown don’t you?_

_Bitter laughter echoed around him, the crown of thorns forced down on his head. The thorns ripped through the skin of his forehead as if they were tiny daggers. The pain made his eyes water and his chest tighten. He tried to breathe, but he couldn’t seem to get any air in his lungs. A heavy weight bent his spine and threatened to snap it._

_Please, Father…Please…_

_The pain was so intense, he couldn’t see anything, there was nothing but pain, suffering, and he knew that this was for a reason. His suffering would bring peace, bring joy, and save his people from the darkness they were lost in now._

_Father, give me strength…_

***

 

“Jared!”

 

Chad’s screams brought the others running as Jared collapsed to the floor. His arms and legs flailed wildly, blood running down his face as the crowd parted people staring down at the young man. Tom was the first one there and he tossed his jacket over Jared trying to pin his body to the floor, but he was too damn strong.

 

“Chad, help me! Mike, get his legs!”

 

As they fought to pin him, he continued to scream, and wail at the top of his lungs. Even with the three men on top of him, his body still bounced off the floor.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ! What the hell’s wrong with him?!” Mike yelled over his screams.

 

Chad was trying his damnedest to get Jared’s attention, but wherever he was there was no cutting through the anguish he was suffering. He didn’t want to give up no matter what. “Jared! Shit, man! Jared! Snap out of it!”

 

Snap out of it he did for a split second and sent Tom, Mike, and Chad tumbling wildly across the floor and knocking other people down. He scrambled to his feet and skidded off the dance floor, still screaming in pain and clutching his head, blood dripping down his face and into his eyes as he fled out the front doors right past Chris.

 

“Jesus,” Chris growled deep in his throat as he watched Chad run past. “What in the hell?”

 

***

 

Outside Jared was lost in the pain and darting between cars. Brakes squealed, and people screamed out the windows around him. He was completely oblivious though to anything, but the pain. Even Chad’s screams couldn’t pierce the fog that surrounded him. He stumbled through the rain panting, sobbing, and finally found his way to the other side of the busy street.

 

Chad watched as his best friend, terrified and bleeding disappeared into the storm and fear coursed through his gut. Turning he ran for his car and cursed beneath his breath as he nearly lost his footing on the rain slicked pavement. He had to find Jared before he did something stupid and he knew that his loft was the best place to start looking.

 

That was Jared’s safe place.

 

***

 

Jensen moved down the sidewalk, his collar pulled up against the chill rain that fell in sheets around him. He’d spent the remainder of the afternoon squirreled away in his hotel room researching on his laptop until his eyes burned. Despite hours of research, he still hadn’t found one mention of a stigmatic that had not been a deeply religious person. Perhaps Father Kripke had been right, he thought. Perhaps this wasn’t just a person showing the signs of the stigmata, but a possession of some type. After all, demons were dark creatures that lied, beings of trickery.

 

Pausing he glanced up at the building and then back down at the crumpled piece of paper with Jared’s address on it. This was the building, he thought as he moved to the front door. He leaned forward peering at the column of buzzers and the names listed next to them. Spotting Jared’s last name he reached out and pushed the button, and then shifted on his feet nervously as he waited. He was getting ready to ring the bell again when he heard someone sobbing. Jensen turned and spotted Jared just a few feet away, hair tangled, face streaked with what appeared to be blood and tears, and mumbling beneath his breath.

 

“Jared?” Jensen called out.

 

Jared’s head jerked up and their eyes met through the pouring rain. His eyes widened and he began shaking his head furiously and turned fleeing across the street. Jensen took off after him, his legs fighting to keep up the pace that Jared was keeping.

 

“Jared!” Ahead of him, Jensen saw Jared duck into an alley through a huge brick arch and disappear into the shadows. Without a second thought, he ran after him.

 

Beyond the archway was a trash filled dead end alley and as Jensen came to a stop a flock of doves rose up into the rain, their wings fluttering loudly, and he flinched. He took a few more steps into the alley and called out. “Jared?” His voice echoed back at him and he glanced around, but there was no sign of the young man. “Jared?!”

 

A sudden wind stirred the trash, papers fluttering up, and swirling on the current. Jensen lifted his gaze and watched the paper fly higher, fluttering as if it were the wings of the birds that had vanished into the darkness. The wind whistled around him as he watched the paper dive and soar around him and Jensen swore he heard soft whispering. He lowered his gaze and turned to his left, his eyes searching the darkness.

 

Tucked away beneath a ladder and behind some rusted grillwork on an old door, Jared sat watching Jensen his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes were wide, filled with fear, and something else that seemed unnatural. Jensen’s gaze focused on his hiding spot and as he approached him, the cap on an extinguisher exploded out and steam shot out into the cold air causing Jensen to jump back. The wind grew louder with a suddenness that echoed the unnatural light in Jared’s eyes as more caps began to explode outward and Jensen stepped backward, gaze flicking from one noise to another. The caps hit the brick paved alley with loud explosions of metal as Jensen continued to back up. The fire escape’s lock popped and the ladder roared down with a clatter barely missing Jensen as he leapt from its path.

 

Above him, the windows began flying open, slamming back against the slick, crumbling brick walls, and the glass shattered in the frames falling down in a shower of silver slivers. Jensen lifted his arms, protecting himself from the falling glass, spun and looked up, his eyes going wide as the frames continued to bang against the wall and the paper rose once more flapping wildly in the wind. He got the distinct impression that someone or something wanted him to stay away from Jared, but he’d be damned first. The sudden sharp sound of a bottle breaking ended the wild cacophony around him.

 

Across the street, Chad was getting out of his car, and he stopped in his tracks as the street suddenly went dead silent. Somehow, he knew Jared was the cause of that silence.

 

Back in the alley, Jensen turned at the loud crack of the bottle, and spotted Jared at the back of the alley. He was crouched on the hood of a car, hair tangled in a wet mess of coffee and magenta, and the pale streetlight caught on the curve of the loop in his left ear. In his right hand, he held a shattered beer bottle and he seemed to be writing something on the hood in front of him, the jagged glass screeching against metal.

 

Cautiously Jensen made his way towards the car and as he approached, he could hear Jared mumbling beneath his breath. He couldn’t make out the words, but he was damned sure it wasn’t English. Once he was within ten or fifteen feet he cleared his throat and called out. “Jared?”

 

Jared’s head jerked up and his attention focused on Jensen. His gaze narrowed as he stood up and in the streetlight’s glow, Jensen could see his eyes. He clenched his teeth as he looked into Jared’s eyes, but they weren’t his at all, he thought. The eyes that stared back at him were an eerie unnatural golden brown, the pupils blown wide, and black as pitch. Reaching in his pocket Jensen slipped his hand held recorder from his coat pocket slowly. Jared cocked his head, almost bird like, and hissed between his teeth at Jensen, the bottle clenched in his fist so tight his knuckles were bone white. For a moment, they just stared at one another and then Jared dropped back to his knees again, ripping the glass along the metal.

 

The roar of the wind picked up again and more of the pipe caps began to explode. Jensen moved closer his gaze focused on the jerky movements of Jared’s hand as he continued to carve something into the metal. When he got within five feet, Jared lifted his head again, and glared at him with those surreal eyes and he lifted his hand, pointing the jagged bottle at him. The voice that exploded from Jared’s lips was angry and a couple of octaves deeper than his normal voice, almost guttural.

 

“Ketzutzu etza ana thama! Te una abria!” Jared’s movements became jerkier as his voice rose even louder. “Thiskachun ya thigh thama!”

 

From across the alley, Chad’s voice rang out, “Jared!”

 

Jared sucked in a deep breath and his head dropped down, the bottle slipped from his fingers, and he began sobbing as he collapsed on his hands and knees. Moving forward, Jensen reached out as he dropped the recorder back in his coat pocket, and Jared lifted one hand to grasp at Jensen’s coat. There was no doubt, Jensen thought as he wrapped his arms around Jared’s heaving chest, that something not of this world was happening to this young man.

 

Between Chad and Jensen, they managed to get Jared off the car, but his legs refused to hold his weight. Chad met Jensen’s eyes, but he didn’t need to say anything. It was obvious to Jensen that he cared about Jared deeply and Jensen let a silent prayer escape that Jared had someone. Slowly they made their way through the alley supporting Jared as much as they could and Chad whispering encouragement in his best friend’s ear.

 

“It’s okay, man. I got you, Jay, I got you.”

 

***

 

Chad had driven them to St. Francis’ Cathedral, his foot heavy on the gas, and wheels squealing against the wet pavement. In the backseat Jensen had sat, Jared’s head resting in his lap, and stroked his hair back from his face. As they roared through the city streets, he noticed for the first time how very beautiful and innocent Jared looked. The shape of his face reminded him of the pictures he’d seen of the big cats of Africa, and his skin was honey gold and smooth as silk to the touch. Jensen found himself overcome by the desire to hold Jared and never let go and perhaps that frightened him more than any of the things he’d seen in that alley.

 

When they’d arrived, Chad had helped him get Jared inside because at that point he was out of it completely. His body was limp as if his bones had turned to jelly and the entire trip through the church and back into the Father Morgan’s living quarters he mumbled softly the same words slipping from his lips repeatedly. Throughout the entire thing, Chad had remained silent and stoic although his eyes reflected something entirely different.

 

Now Jensen was setting on the edge of the bed where they’d settled Jared. He was carefully cleaning the deep tears in his brow and wiping the blood away from his skin. Across the room, Chad leaned against the wall smoking a cigarette alongside Father Morgan whose expression reflected the younger man’s fear and worry. As Jensen continued to wipe away the drying blood, Jared’s eyes fluttered open, and this time they were his eyes that looked up sleepily at Jensen.

 

“Welcome back,” Jensen smiled down at Jared.

 

Jared’s voice was ragged when he finally spoke. “Where am I?”

 

“You’re in Father Morgan’s church.” He rinsed out the cloth and continued wiping Jared’s face with gentle swipes as Chad stepped closer.

 

“Hey,” Chad smiled as he knelt next to the bed.

 

Jared turned to offer a weak smile to Chad as Jensen cleared his throat. “I think he needs to get some rest.” He stood and took the bowl of water and walked away.

 

“How ya doing, Jay?” Chad whispered as he rested his chin on his folded arms, “’Cause, man, you look like shit.”

 

Jared chuckled, rolling his head back against the pillow, and his eyes drifted shut. “Smells like…flowers.” He mumbled as he slipped into an exhausted sleep.

 

Reaching over Chad sighed and plucked something from Jared’s tangled hair. “You got shit in your hair, dude, but it ain’t flowers.”

 

***

 

Sitting at the desk in Father Morgan’s office, Jensen stared down at the recorder in his hand. The light from the desk lamp bounced off his glasses giving his face a soft glow as he pushed play and Jared’s voice came through the speaker.

 

_Ketzutzu etza ana thama! Te una abria!_

 

He hit rewind and listened intensely to the words again.

 

 _Ketzutzu etza ana thama! Te una abria!_ _Thiskachun ya thigh thama!_

 

Hitting stop, Jensen hummed thoughtfully, then picked up the phone and dialed a number more familiar to him than his own name. As he waited to be connected, he drummed his pen against the desk.

 

_“Pronto.”_

 

“James.”

 

_“Ah, Jensen, how are you?”_

 

“James, listen…could you help me with a translation?”

 

_“Of course, do you have it there?”_

 

“Yes.”

 

_“Read it for me.”_

 

“I’ll play it for you.” Jensen hit the play button as he lifted it to the phone and listened to Jared’s voice as it rose in anger. After it finished playing, he stopped it and brought the phone back to his ear. “So, what is it? Is it gibberish?”

 

_“No, no it’s not gibberish. Jensen, who is speaking these words?”_

 

***

 

Jared had woken to discover he was alone in the small room and decided he wanted to get out of the bed. There was no way he was going to go back to sleep, but he was freezing. Picking up one of the blankets that had been covering him, he wrapped it around his shoulders, and crossed the room to push open the door. Outside the door was a long corridor that led towards what he could only guess was the main chapel. Slowly Jared shuffled barefooted down the corridor and checked out the various framed paintings, clippings, and religious icons that lined the walls. He was so tired and confused about how he’d gotten here.

 

Finally, he reached the end of the corridor and stepped down into the main sanctuary. His gaze lifted to the ceiling awed by the beauty of the murals and sculpted framework that lined the ceiling and trailed down the walls. As he shuffled forward, he let his gaze come to rest on the sculpted crucifix that hung on the wall above the main altar. It was beautiful and sad all at once, the figures below weeping, and their arms stretched out as if to lift Christ from where he hung, face contorted in agony. His eyes lifted upward towards what Jared could only guess was a representation of heaven.

 

As Jared stood studying the heartbreaking tableau, he wondered why such agony inspired such faith in some people. There was darkness to the idea that made him nauseous and for a moment, he felt for this man who’d supposedly been the son of God. As he contemplated those thoughts, his gaze drifted over the statue and settled on the sculpted hands of Christ. His eyes widened and a flicker of hope lit them up. Slowly his gaze lowered to the bloodstained bandages around his wrists and then flicked back up at the sculpture as his fingers uncurled.

 

Behind him, Jensen entered the sanctuary, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair tousled from a sleepless night. When he saw Jared, his heart leapt at the image he made wrapped in the blanket and staring reverently at the crucifix above the altar. He cleared his throat to keep from startling Jared and spoke softly. “Good morning, Mr. Padalecki. You’re up early.”

 

“Hey, I think you made a mistake.” Jared’s eyes never left the crucifix as Jensen joined him at the base of the altar.

 

“What do you mean?” Jensen asked.

 

“I can’t have the stigmata,” he lifted one hand, the blanket slipping from his shoulder and pointed up at the sculpture. “Jesus was crucified through the palms of his hands not his wrists. Look at my wounds they’re in my wrists, so you’re wrong.”

 

Jensen’s gaze lifted to the sculpture and he sighed softly. He should have seen this coming. “Actually, scientists have discovered that in Roman times, people were crucified through the wrists and not the palms of the hands. There’s no way that the hands could have supported the weight of the body, so they did crucify them through the wrists.”

 

“No,” Jared become agitated, “…so you’re telling me every painting, every statue, and crucifix in the world is what? Wrong?”

 

“No, no they’re just inaccurate,” Jensen turned to look Jared in the eye. “They’re impressions of the truth.” Jared turned away, a pained expression on his face as he continued. “Icons are meant to be inspirational. Mr. Padalecki…Jared…” he followed Jared and stepped in front of him. “There’s something else you need to know. Those words you kept repeating, that you thought were nonsense, they’re not. Actually, they’re a very specific language. It’s a form of Aramaic.”

 

Jared shifted nervously and tugged the blanket tighter around him. “What?”

 

“It’s a form of Aramaic that hasn’t been used for over 1900 years. It’s the form that was used in Galilee during the time of Jesus.”


	8. Chapter 8

**September 23, 2007** **  
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

The sun had set hours ago and still Jared sat on the ledge that encircled the roof of his apartment building. Up here, the wind was nearly icy, whipping his hair in his eyes, but even as chill as it was it didn’t rival the chill that encompassed his gut. After Jensen had told him about the Aramaic, he’d called a cab, and gone back to his apartment refusing to speak another word to the priest. He’d showered, changed his clothes, and came here to the one spot no one could find him and he sat and thought.

Nothing about this was fair. He’d always had his doubts about a higher power, but his belief or rather his disbelief, cemented with his father’s death. He hadn’t been able to believe in anything that would snatch his father away and destroy his family. Even though it’d been six years, he still blamed himself for the accident. All he’d wanted was to come clean about his secret, live his life in the open, but what he’d done was unforgivable. He’d broken his mother’s heart, taken away her happiness, and no matter what she might say, he knew she wasn’t happy.

Reaching into his pocket he removed the folded paper that he’d found and unfolded it. He didn’t understand the words even though he knew it meant something. With a sad sigh, he tucked it back in his pocket and carefully stood, staring down at the traffic far below. It would be so simple to end it right here and right now, he thought. All it would take is one simple step and then he’d be freefalling to a peace he couldn’t seem to find here in this life.

_Would you?_

It was just a faint whisper, but it was all he needed to turn away from the ledge.

***

**The Steel Gallery**   
**September 24, 2007** ****

****Chad was worried, his gut clenching in a knot the size of Texas, and he cursed himself for leaving Jared in the care of that priest the night before last. He should have stayed because if their roles had been reversed Jared would have stayed. Grabbing the phone, he dialed Jared’s home number and waited as it rang repeatedly. He’d already tried his cell and voice mail always picked up. Finally, he just gave in and hung up as Tom walked by.

“You get through?” Tom asked, his voice a bare whisper.

“No.”

**

After a day of more research, mainly to keep his mind clear of worry, Jensen had given in to the fear that he’d screwed up. Grabbing his coat and umbrella he’d came here to Jared’s building in hopes of correcting his mistakes. When Cardinal Lehn had sent him to Pittsburgh, he’d believed it was to keep him away from Belo Quinto. To keep him from investigating the mystery its unknown church held. Now it didn’t really matter why. He was here and this situation next to Belo Quinto was far more important. 

He rang the bell and waited, but as he’d suspected Jared didn’t answer. Lucky for him one of the other tenants chose that minute to come out the security door and he slipped in behind them. The trip up in the elevator took far too long and Jensen felt as if he were going to jump out of his skin before he got to his destination. 

When the elevator reached the top floor, he nearly ran down the hall to Jared’s door. Lifting one hand, he knocked gently and called out. “Mr. Padalecki?”

There was no answer, but a chill crept up his spine as he reached out again and pushed at the door. Just as he feared, the door was unlocked and it swung open. “Jared? It’s Father Ackles can you hear me, Jared? I’m coming in.” 

Cautiously Jensen stepped in and around the partition into what he assumed was the area of the living room. A faint whispering followed by squeaking caught his attention. He glanced up to see Jared standing in front of the back wall, the rich azure causing the deep scarlet of his shirt to stand out brightly. He was resting one elbow against the wall and writing in jerky motions that reminded Jensen of the night in the alley.

“Jared?”

There was no reply, but what sounded like the faint whispering and the squeak of the marker. Jensen slipped the recorder from his pocket and dropped it to the table next to him as he hit the record button, then he sat his bag aside, squatting down, and pulling out his camera. As he stood, he called out once more. “Jared?” 

No reply as he suspected as he stepped down into the main portion of the room, lifted his camera, and focused it on the writing on the wall. He snapped the shutter and the flash lit up the dim room. Jared seemed to pause, even flinched, but he didn’t stop his scribbling. He snapped a few more pictures and each time he clicked the shutter Jared seemed to flinch as if the flash hurt his eyes. 

“Jared,” Jensen whispered as he lowered the camera and his gaze focused on a symbol scrawled on the wall above the writing. It was a bird, a dove, primitive, but obvious never the less and he recognized it. He’d seen the same image carved into marble, in the base of a statue.

Belo Quinto, he thought.

In the base of the statue of the Virgin Mother in a church that didn’t exist according to the Father Kripke. His stomach knotted as it dawned on him that this wasn’t just a simple case of stigmata, that perhaps Father Kripke had been correct in his assessment---a possession. He lowered the camera and focused on Jared’s slumped shoulders and the way he moved almost arthritically as if he were an old man. 

“Who are you?” Jensen whispered softly.

Jared turned and faced Jensen then and what he saw scared him. The youthful face was no longer youthful, but rather that of an elderly man. His eyes were milky with what appeared to be cataracts, but they were rolled back in his head, just enough to only show the lower half of his pupils. The voice that came from Jared’s dry and cracked lips was not his own, it was deep and ancient, and Jensen was damned sure Jared didn’t speak Portuguese.

“O mensageiro é sem importância.” Then Jared turned away and back to his work, the marker squeaking once more, but the whispering had stopped.

The messenger is unimportant, Jensen wondered, the messenger for what?

Jensen continued taking photos as Jared worked laboriously, but with each click of the shutter, he seemed to become more agitated. Finally he turned, milky eyes focused on Jensen, his breathing labored as he stood there and swayed. Jensen lowered the camera, a look of doubt flickering in his eyes. If this were a possession, as he believed now, he wasn’t sure what to expect next. He jerked back as Jared took a step forward his breathing even more labored and he began to shuffle forward along the floor.

As Jensen watched, he moved slow and painfully across the floor, his body nearly doubled over, and his hands dangling limply at his sides. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to Jensen as he shuffled past him, grunting in pain as he made his way up the few steps and to the bed. Jensen followed his movements, the camera dangling from his fingertips. When Jared reached the bed, he dropped to the mattress with a ragged sigh, and then swung his legs onto the mattress lying back and his eyes closed. For a moment Jensen stood there, waiting, but for what he couldn’t say. As he waited, Jared’s breathing began to ease and he walked up the stairs and to the platform bed where the young man lay.

Suddenly a drop of water fell down, splashing across Jared’s forehead, Jensen looked up in search of the source, but there seemed none. The ceiling was smooth and flawless with no sign of a leak of any kind. He glanced back down and now the one drop had become more, a light shower of water falling against Jared’s face until he sucked in a deep breath. One of his hands lifted to capture the falling liquid and as Jensen watched, the lines begin to fade, the glow of youth and beauty returning to Jared’s face. His other hand lifted and captured more of the water and he gasped softly, long fingers tracing his features from forehead to nose and lips to drop from the point of his chin, finally to come to rest against his chest.

Without opening his eyes, he spoke, voice laced with pain. “I feel like my heart is breaking,” he sucked in a deep breath. “Why am I so sad?” Jared questioned as his voice finally cracked, ragged sobs vibrating through his chest as his tears mixed with the mysterious rain.

Jensen just settled in the chair at the end of the bed, silent, his hands folded in his lap. He didn’t have the answers that Jared sought, but he did know he couldn’t leave this man. He couldn’t abandon him in this moment of spiritual and emotional upheaval. God had chose Jared for a reason to be a messenger of heaven despite his lack of religion, despite his appearance. What that message was, Jensen couldn’t begin to imagine, but it really didn’t matter. Who was he to second-guess God?

Shocked from his thoughts as Jared pushed up off the mattress, all sign of the cleansing water gone, he watched Jared’s brows draw together. “It smells like flowers in here,” Jared sighed as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, his bare feet hitting the floor. “Like jasmine…or rose or something.” He whispered as he stood and wandered around the end of the bed. “Can you smell that?” 

“Yes, I can.” Jensen answered, a frown creasing his forehead. 

Jared stopped at the head of the stairs, his gaze focusing on the far wall. “Who wrote that?” he asked. 

Turning Jensen sighed softly. “You did.” 

“I wrote that?” Disbelief tinged Jared’s voice.

“Yes.” 

**

**Vatican City**   
**September 24, 2007**

“Have you heard from Father Jensen?” Cardinal Lehne stood in the garden listening to the cathedral bells toll the noonday hour, the scent of roses thick in the air.

Father Kripke shook his head, “No, Eminence. He has not filed a report since he’s been there.” He handed the Cardinal a manila folder.

A frown creased Lehne’s brow, “What are these?”

“Newspaper clippings sent from our office in New York. The first one is from Pennsylvania and the others are from New York and Washington.”

“These are even more damaging than I could imagine, this one mentions the stigmata.” Lehne huffed in disappointment, “He doesn’t seem to be diffusing the situation.”

“Shall I call him home?” Kripke peered up from the file, disapproval glinting in his eyes. 

Lehne sighed and glanced around the garden cautious of what he said. “Have him conclude his investigation immediately and present his report to me personally in New York at the end of next week.” 

*** 

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**   
**September 24, 2007**

Jensen stood behind his tripod, sleeves rolled up, and collar removed as he took photographs of the wall of Jared’s loft. “Jared, could you please come over here and have a look at this? I just can’t believe none of this means anything to you.” 

Setting on a trunk by the window, open to the cool late afternoon air, Jared fed the doves that had taken up residence on the ledge. He was smiling and laughing as they cooed softly, ducking their heads to pluck at the seeds in his palm. For him this was the most peace that he’d had in over a week and Father Ackles was bound and determined to destroy it with his obsession.

“Jared.” 

He sighed softly, fingertips grazing over the downy feathers of their delicate bodies. The last thing Jared wanted was to look at the monstrosity on his wall. There was a part of him, now, that realized Father Ackles was trying to help, but something in those jagged marks made him angry, angrier than he’d ever been in his life. He had no idea what it was that angered him so deeply there seemed no logical reason for it. So, for Jared the best way to deal with it was to ignore it, but the click of the shutter, the light from the flash, all of it made him nauseous with the anger. 

“Jared, can you look at this, please. Sometimes subjects can retain fragments or images that can be transmitted subconsciously…” 

Standing Jared reached for his jacket and sighed. “This subject doesn’t retain fragments of images.” He growled as Jensen straightened up and turned to where he stood eyes filled with irritation. “You don’t get it do you, Father Ackles? I don’t know what the hell that means!” He thrust is finger in the direction of the wall. “I don’t know what this means!” He held up his bandaged wrists, his voice angry and flustered. “I just want my life back!” 

Jared turned and headed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. As the sound of the door echoed through the empty loft, Jensen sighed, and ran his hand over his face. He honestly understood where Jared was coming from, but the intensity of his anger sometimes was overwhelming. First and foremost, he was here to do a job, but he’d broken the one rule no legit investigator ever broke if they were smart. He’d become emotionally involved with the subject. 

***

Outside the clouds that had lingered for days were beginning to drift apart, weak sunlight trying to burn its way through and leaving the streets awash in milky light. Jared had one thing on his mind, but it wasn’t Father Ackles, he told himself. As he darted through the streets, he focused on getting to where he wanted to go unaware that the priest in question was following him a look of worry etched in his features. 

The open market was one of Jared’s favorite places in the neighborhood and part of the reason he’d settled there. He wove his way through the crowd finding the florist’s booth. The scent of the flowers calmed the anger that had been rising in his gut since he’d woken on his bed. A gentle smile teased the corner of his mouth, his dimples deepening, as he pulled a branch of lilacs from the wall of flowers and buried his nose deep into their fragrant blossoms. He put the lilacs back and slowly worked his way down the aisle collecting flowers as he went; freesia, iris, and anything else that reminded him of the scent he’d smelled that morning.

Behind him, Father Ackles ducked into the market, searching the crowd for a glimpse of Jared. He sighed in relief when he spotted Jared’s head, the red kerchief tying back his hair. “Mr. Padalecki!” He caught up to where Jared stood selecting a large calla lily. “I’m sorry.”

Jared’s grin widened although he didn’t look up. “Don’t Mr. Padalecki me just ‘cause you fucked up.” 

A slight blush bloomed along Jensen’s cheeks, highlighting the freckles scattered across them and the bridge of his nose. “I am sorry.”

Leaning in Jared inspected a tulip and sighed. “You know for a priest you’re relentless.” 

“Yeah, I guess I quit being a priest and slid back into being a scientist.” Jensen thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets as he followed Jared down the aisle.

Jared turned to face Jensen, his long fingers toying with the flowers. “Hey, what kind of a scientist is a priest?” His eyes sparkled with a faint sheen of green in the milky light as he offered Jensen a shy smile.

“Oh, you don’t want to know.” Jensen chuckled. 

“Yes, I do!” A snort escaped Jared as he turned back to the flowers.

*** 

They’d taken a table at _Milo’s_ next to the florist’s booth and Jared was laughing hysterically, eyes shining. “You were an organic chemist? No way!”

Jensen chuckled, “Uh-huh.” 

“So, what,” Jared leaned in and Jensen blushed, “You had these glasses with tape around the nose piece and a pocket protector?”

“Yes, actually I did.” Jensen smiled wide at Jared, thinking how very gorgeous he was in this light, and how beautiful the sound of his laughter was in the crisp air. “Well, one day I just decided I was going to be a priest.” 

Jared pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and unwrapped them, “Well, why?”

“The holes,” Jensen replied without pause. 

“The holes?” he quirked one brow at Jensen, his dimples deepening as he shook out a cigarette. 

Jensen laughed softly, “The holes in the theories.” 

Reaching in his jacket pocket, Jared pulled out a lighter and lit his cigarette as it dangled from his lips. He smiled around the cigarette as he lifted his head and took a drag, “What theories?” Frowning he licked his lips and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, the taste of it not quite right. 

“This world has existed for six billion years, right? There’s been life on it for three billion years, but for three billion years before that, there was nothing here, no life, just a bunch of elements swirling around. Then one day for no apparent reason, whatsoever, these elements came together in perfect harmony and suddenly there was life.” Jensen smiled at Jared his eyes lighting up as he spoke. “There were things like lilac, hedgehogs, and snails…” 

“Beer and cheesecake,” Jared laughed. 

“Yeah, beer and cheesecake,” taking a swig of his beer Jensen grinned around the bottle. “Did you know monks created alcohol?” 

Jared snorted, “Yes, everyone knows that.” 

“You knew that?” 

“Yeah,” Jared’s eyes shone with something that made Jensen’s stomach squirm. 

“Anyway,” Jensen’s cheeks flamed pink, “…back to those big holes. There really,” the flush in his cheeks grew brighter when Jared snickered. “There really isn’t any explanation and I figured there was something more…well something more important than organic chemistry going on. I figured that it was God and that God was responsible for all this life.” 

Jared sighed softly, “You know I can’t really get a line on you.” He folded his hands beneath his chin and glanced up at the sky. 

“Why not?” 

“First of all I can’t understand a man who says that he you know…” 

Jensen leaned in, “Never made love?” He took another sip of his beer and cleared his throat. “You know this might come as a surprise to you, but I wasn’t born a priest.” His brows raised in amusement.

“But, you didn’t like it?” An odd expression danced across Jared’s face.

Smiling wide, Jensen shook his head. “Well, what’s not to like?”

“But you don’t…miss it?” Jared questioned as he shifted forward, licking his lips. 

“Of course I miss it,” an exasperated sigh escaped Jensen’s lips, “I struggle with it. I’m human after all, but I did make a choice. It seems,” he shifted in his seat offering Jared a bright smile that lit up his eyes, “…that I exchanged one set of complications for another.” 

Jared tossed his head back laughing loudly and Jensen felt his grip slowly slip. He cursed himself internally for his weaknesses as they continued talking. Ten years ago, he’d lived the life of a college student, he’d graduated high school at sixteen, earned his first degree at twenty, and he’d met someone that he cared about deeply. He’d never told anyone with the exception of Brother James why he’d chose to enter the seminary and even then, he had been hesitant. What he’d told Jared was a partial truth, not the full truth. Now it seemed though that his past had finally caught up with him.

Another fifteen minutes of conversation had Jensen believing that just maybe his life wasn't as clear as he’d thought. Jared wasn’t just gorgeous, he was intelligent, funny, and Jensen could see the depth of his soul in his eyes. There was pain there, but there was also joy. The joy just needed to come out with a little help.

Jared pushed back his chair and smiled from ear to ear at the joke Jensen had just finished. “Hey, can a Father have another beer?”

Before Jensen had a chance to reply, the world tipped on its axis.

As Jared pushed up his face twisted in pain and his mouth contorted in a choked scream. Jensen was up and out of his chair as Jared’s legs wobbled beneath him, but he wasn’t quick enough to keep Jared from falling backward into the flower vendor’s rack behind them, another scream of pain on his lips. Around them, Milo’s turned into a mass of hysteria as Jensen went to grab Jared, noting the blood that pooled around his feet as the wounds appeared. He knew what was happening, yet it didn’t make it any easier to watch it happen.

Jared’s spine arched, the weight of his body crushing the flowers beneath his hips and legs. He screamed, his head thrashing wildly back and forth as Jensen tried to capture his face. Arms spread wide he threw back his head and ground his teeth together in an attempt to stopped the next scream, but the pain was too intense. With one final scream, the darkness engulfed him and the voices in his head cried out to him as he sank deeper into oblivion.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Jensen sat next to Jared’s bedside wringing out a bloodstained washcloth, shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his face set in a grim expression. He’d convinced Milo not to call 911, but it’d been hard as hell. Jared and Milo had been friends for nearly six years and the guy, although young, wasn’t stupid. The attack, because that was the only thing Jensen could think to call it, had lasted nearly five minutes, although to Jensen it had seemed eternal. When Jared had come back to himself the look of agony in his eyes nearly convinced Jensen to have Milo call 911, but he knew it would be the worst thing to do. Not to mention Jared had begged him to take him home. Milo had called a cab and offered some towels to wrap Jared’s feet.

 

Now here they were after a long slow trip and the fear was gnawing at his gut. He’d come to care for Jared and he knew in his gut that this was the real thing. He’d witnessed it first-hand. The way it had hit Jared without any warning, how these gaping holes had appeared in his feet and the blood had poured forth like a fountain, pooling on the concrete, and how the wounds in his wrists, his back, and his brow had began to seep.

 

“So this is the fourth?”

 

Jensen swallowed hard as he began to dab the now seeping wounds carefully. “What do you mean?” he asked knowing in his gut what the real question was.

 

Jared hissed softly, his brow furrowed in pain. “When I first met you didn’t you say there were five wounds? Well, this is the fourth. So what is the fifth?”

 

Lifting his head as he rinsed out the washcloth Jensen met Jared’s worried expression and he saw the fear in his dark eyes, just there gleaming like the blade of a knife. “The spear,” he whispered softly, his gaze lowering to the wounds once more.

 

“That’s the one that killed him.” Jared sighed, a hint of resolve in his tone.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jensen met Jared’s glittering eyes. “Don’t worry, Jared. No stigmatic has ever received all five wounds.”

 

“Have you ever met another person who had the stigmata?”

 

Jensen continued cautiously cleaning the wounds on Jared’s feet. “I once made a pilgrimage to a small village in the mountains of southern Italy where I met a priest by the name of Padre Pio. He first received the stigmata when he was twenty-three, the same age as St. Francis of Assisi.”

 

The frown deepened along Jared’s brow. “Who’s St. Francis of Assisi?”

 

“St. Francis was the first person to receive the stigmata back in the 13th century. He was a wild young man who suddenly changed his ways after experiencing a vision of being crucified alongside Christ. When he woke, he discovered his hands and feet were bleeding.”

“This priest…” Jared hissed in pain, “…were his wounds as bad as mine?”

 

Jensen sighed, “Padre Pio lost a pint of blood a day, and he suffered horrifying demonic attacks.”

 

Disbelief shone in Jared’s pain-filled eyes. “Demonic attacks? On a priest?”

 

“All stigmatics suffer the most intense spiritual attacks. The closer they come to God the more open they are to temptation, to the torment of their demons.” He glanced away and the thought that he’d brought this latest attack on Jared made his stomach churn. Had the desire, the lust he’d felt for this beautiful young man caused this increase in pain and suffering? That thought made him want to weep and bare his soul to God and beg him to visit this pain on him and not Jared. “There was also an odor that accompanied his wounds, the scent of sanctity, the scent of…”

 

“Flowers,” Jared whispered, a look of realization shining in his eyes.

 

Jensen nodded, his eyes focused on the bloody washcloth as he rinsed it out. “Yes, flowers.”

 

“Well, what happened to him? How many wounds did he receive?”

 

“Well, he um…” Jensen paused taking a slow even breath, “…he lived to old age.”

 

Jared tried to catch Jensen’s elusive gaze as he asked again. “How many wounds did he receive?”

 

Finally, he lifted his head and met Jared’s terrified gaze. “Two,” he whispered.

 

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room as Jensen chewed the corner of his lower lip. He didn’t want to make this worse. He wanted to ease Jared’s fears, but at the same time, he refused to lie to him. Jared deserved better than that and again he internally cursed himself for becoming this emotionally involved with him. He was a priest for better or worse and he’d taken vows, but as he’d told Jared earlier, he was a man also.

 

“I’m dying---aren’t I?” The resolve in Jared’s voice shredded Jensen’s heart. “This thing…it’s killing me.”

 

The certainty in the younger man’s voice caused Jensen to swallow back bile. There had never been a stigmatic like Jared in the annals of the church. In a matter of a couple of weeks he’d gone from one to four of the wounds, he’d also shown signs of possession. Not for a moment did Jensen want to believe that Jared was dying.

 

Jensen stood and turned his back afraid that Jared might see the truth in his eyes. He knew that he was doing something that he more than likely would suffer the consequences for once he returned to Rome, but frankly, he didn’t care. He was beginning to fall in love, he knew that feeling, and though he was a man of the cloth and he might not be able to fulfill that desire he could save Jared. He refused to believe otherwise.

 

***

 

The first thing he’d done was made sure Jared was comfortable, and then promised to return as soon as he could. He grabbed the film he’d taken of the wall in Jared’s loft and went to the nearest one-hour photo service to get the film developed. Now he was sitting in Father Morgan’s office at his laptop and sending the pictures he’d taken to Brother James back in Rome.

 

“Here’s a closer shot, James.” Jensen pressed the cell to his ear as he sent the next photo through to Brother James. “My guess is that it’s Aramaic.”

 

“That’s better…I’m looking at it.”

 

Jensen waited for a moment for further comments, but James grew silent, and he was getting a vibe that he didn’t like. “Is there…is there something wrong, James?”

 

“Yes, don’t send me anymore of these pictures. How many did you send me?”

 

He could hear the nervousness in Brother James’ voice. “Six---why? What’s the problem?”

 

“The problem is what it says.”

 

Leaning forward Jensen studied the picture with a frown. “What does it say?”

 

“It says that the kingdom of God is inside you and all around you. Jensen, forget this, drop it, and pretend you have never seen it.”

 

“James, what is the problem?”

 

There was a pause and then James cleared his throat. “You remember the gospels?”

 

“Yes,” the line went quiet again and Jensen’s palms began to sweat. “James? James?” In the background, he heard a man speak in Italian, sharp and angry, but he couldn’t hear the words clearly. “James, are you still there?”

 

“You remember the Gospel Commission? It was closed down suddenly by your friend Cardinal Lehne.”

 

“Yes, a few years ago.”

 

“Well, we discovered a document that appeared to be a completely new gospel.”

 

Jensen frowned. “Well, what is the significance of that?”

 

“I was one of three translators that worked on this document. It was written entirely in Aramaic, the language of Jesus and his disciples. It may be Jesus’ actual words.”

On the other end of the line, James paused and glanced up at the balcony, his gaze settling on the shadowy form of Cardinal Lehne’s right hand man, Father Kripke. Panic set in and he began erasing all of the files Jensen had sent him. On the other end of the phone, he could hear his own panic reflected in Jensen’s voice.

 

“James? James, are you there? What’s going on?”

 

He began rattling off random comments in Italian as his fingers flew over the keyboard. With a finally click he removed the disc from the hard drive and hung up the phone. As he headed up the stairs, he passed Father Kripke who was heading downstairs and he nodded a sigh of relief ghosting past his lips.

 

***

 

Jensen was chewing on his lower lip nervously, his thoughts on Brother James back in Rome. He was beginning to think that this assignment had opened a huge can of worms that none of them would be able to seal again. Jensen found himself jerked from his thoughts by Father Morgan’s gruff voice.

 

“What’s this?”

 

He turned his head as Father Morgan held out one of the photos and he took it from the man’s hand. A frown drew his brows together as he saw what Father Morgan had. At the edge of the photo was what he recalled was a mirror. Jensen slipped his reading glasses on and peered at the photo, studying the image.

 

“Is that a painting?” Father Morgan questioned softly.

 

Jensen shook his head, “No, it’s a mirror.”

 

“Well, who else was in the room with you?”

 

As he tilted the photo in the dim light, his frown grew deeper. “I don’t know.”

 

Father Morgan cleared his throat. “I thought you said it was just you two?”

 

“16-A,” Jensen turned, “…do you have the negative?”

 

Shuffling through the stack of negatives, Father Morgan located the negative in question, and handed it to Jensen. Lifting the negative into the light Jensen studied the image on the sheet and he bit his lower lip. His finger traced the image as he swallowed hard, an elderly man.

 

“Who is that?” Jensen whispered to no one in particular. Sitting aside the negative, he pushed up out of his chair and began gathering his things. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

***

**Vatican City**

**September 24, 2007**

 

Father Kripke stood over the station that Brother James had been working at mere moments before, his expression emotionless as he typed in a password. As he retrieved the images recently sent through the server, his fingers sped over the keys. He hummed thoughtfully as the image came up on the monitor and his eyebrows rose in curiosity. Hitting print, he moved around the table as the laser printer printed out the last two images.

 

***

 

“Cardinal Lehne!” Father Kripke called out as he spotted the Cardinal heading down the staircase.

 

“I’m late for a meeting with the curator.” Lehne replied as Kripke caught up with him and followed him down.

 

He sighed, “Beg your pardon, sir, but I believe this may be of interest.”

 

Lehne came to a stop and turned as Kripke held out a plain manila folder. “What is it?” He flipped it open his brow quirking as he focused on the pictures inside. “Where did you get this?”

 

“It was e-mailed to Brother James.”

 

“By who?” Lehne demanded.

 

“Father Ackles in Pittsburgh, sir.”

 

“Do you know what this means?” the Cardinal’s eyes narrowed. The less Father Kripke knew the better, but he would deal with the repercussions if he knew more than he needed too.

 

“No,” Father Kripke answered, “Is it important?”

 

“Ah, will you tell the meeting that I will be with them in a few minutes.” Cardinal Lehne turned and headed back up the stairs.

 

***

 

In his room, Brother James retrieved his cell and dialed an overseas number from memory. He paced the small room as he listened to the clicking as he was connected. Finally, the phone began to ring and he sighed softly as he sent a prayer heavenward. They’d all known that this would come back to bite them in the ass. Cardinal Lehne had tried to kill it, stomp it down, but the truth had to be uncovered, that was what Father Singer had told them.

 

***

 

**New York City**

**September 24, 2007**

 

Thousands of miles away an old rotary phone rang, the jangle disturbing the man who lay on the narrow twin bed. Rolling over he picked up the phone, an intense expression in his eyes. “Who is it?”

 

The sound of a familiar voice drifted over the line, the words in Italian. “Padre Manners? Non appenda in su. Non appenda in su.”

“Chi sono che comunico con?” He sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the mattress, his long shaggy hair falling over his narrowed eyes.

 

“È un amico anziano.”

“James, che cosa è accaduto?”

“Il Gospel mancante del Jesus… che ha girato in su.”

 

Father Manners, although he hadn’t been a recognized priest in years, frowned. “Quello non può essere possible.”

“Singer.”

“Singer?”

“… Negli Stati Uniti. Pittsburgh.”

“Trasmettalo che cosa avete.”

“No, nessun non posso. Lehne lo ucciderà.”

 

The phone went dead and Manners growled to himself. Singer had been a fool to run, but he’d be a bigger fool if he didn’t do the right thing this time. The Church, Cardinal Lehne, neither could do anything else to him. Yes, they’d taken his collar, but they hadn’t taken his faith, and if this was what God had planned for him---so be it.

 

He hung up the receiver then picked it up again, dialing a number he’d memorized long ago in preparation for this. A friendly female voice on the other end greeted him. “I need a one way ticket to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Yes, I’ll hold.”

 

***

 

In Rome, Brother James tucked away a framed photo in his dresser drawer and ripped a page from his phone book, shredding it. _Some ties, should never be discovered_ , he thought.


	10. Chapter 10

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

September 24, 2007

Sometime after he’d left Jared, the rain had begun once more and a sharp chill in the air caused Jensen’s skin to crawl along his bones. Whatever was going on he feared that it was beyond him and that fear settled in the pit of his stomach like a leaded weight that made him nauseous. He paused in front of Jared’s building and he hit the buzzer, nervously pacing, and glancing over his shoulder.

“Come on up, it’s open,” Jared’s voice crackled over the speaker, just as the door buzzed and popped open.

Taking one last glance over his shoulder, Jensen grasped the handle, and ducked inside out of the pouring rain.

***

A few minutes later, he arrived at Jared’s front door, the sound of muffled rock music drifting into the hall. Jensen frowned as he thought of the shape Jared had been when he’d left him earlier in the day. He’d been in pain and exhausted, but he’d sounded energized and fresh when he’d buzzed him up. Pushing open the door, Jensen cautiously stepped into the apartment, the light of flickering candles giving the loft a surreal appearance. “Jared?” He closed the door behind him and moved deeper into the apartment.

Jared called out from the direction of the bathroom. “I’m in here!”

As Jensen reached the door, Jared came strolling out as if nothing had happened earlier. He was barefoot, dressed in black leather pants, a white wife beater, and a sheer burgundy button down that accented the rippling muscles beneath it. “Hey, how are you? You want a beer?” He breezed past and towards the kitchen.

A frown creased Jensen’s brow as he followed. “Sure.”

Jared pulled open the refrigerator door, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, and pulled out two ice-cold bottles. He crossed the room and handed one of the bottles to Jensen. “Check it out,” he turned his wrists, wrapped in fresh gauze, up to Jensen’s gaze, “looks like their healing up.”

Carefully, Jensen pulled back the gauze. “It’s healing well…you’ll probably be able to get these stitches out soon. That’s great.” He glanced up to meet Jared’s shining eyes and he smiled softly. “Let me see your forehead.” He reached up, brushing Jared’s tangled bangs from his forehead and ran his fingertips along the healing wounds there. He could feel Jared lean into his hand and for a moment, the thought crossed his mind that he needed to pull away, but he found himself trapped in Jared’s liquid hazel eyes. “This hurt?” Jensen prodded the wounds along Jared’s hairline.

“No,” Jared whispered as Jensen’s hand slid down through the silken strands of his hair.

Jensen’s heart began to race as Jared leaned into the curve of his palm and turned his head, his lips caressing the mound of his thumb. He pulled his hand away and his chest tightened as he met Jared’s gaze and he knew this couldn’t happen. As Jared stepped closer, licking his lips, Jensen stepped back and around him, heading into the living room. His eyes narrowed as they focused on the wall at the far end. A deep red smear of fresh paint covered everything that Jared had written the day before on the wall.

“Why did you paint over the wall?” Jensen asked.

“I got bored,” Jared stepped up into his space, his fingers curling around Jensen’s waist, his thumb rubbing along the waistband of his slacks, “and I got sick of looking at it.”

Jensen turned as Jared’s fingers squeezed gently and pulled it away. Their eyes met and suddenly Jensen felt like he was drowning in the depths of Jared’s stare. Jared’s hand lifted cupping his jaw and he sucked in a deep breath, his eyes drifting shut as Jared mapped the curve of his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. _This is wrong_ , Jensen thought, _so damn wrong, but I want it so badly I can taste it_.

Jared leaned in their noses brushing as the soft pulse of the music in the room mesmerized Jensen. Jared cupped his face in both his palms and pulled him closer as their lips brushed slow and sweet like the seduction it was. He wanted to fight this because he knew it was wrong, he knew Jared wasn’t in his right mind, but it felt so perfect. Jensen sighed as Jared moved in again and brushed their lips, the tip of his tongue teasing along the seam of Jensen’s questing for permission to deepen the kiss.

That gentle touch snapped Jensen out of the spell Jared’s touch had cast on him and his eyes flew open. He pulled away from Jared’s touch, the taste of Jared still on his trembling lips. They stared at one another for a moment before Jensen turned away, staring out the window at the Pittsburgh skyline, and then his gaze lowered to the floor. _What the hell are you doing_ , he thought.

“I wish you weren’t wearing that uniform right now,” Jared’s voice held a wistful tone as he spoke, lowering down to set on the steps.

“Believe me,” Jensen shook his head, “it has nothing to do with the uniform.”

“Then what is it---your vow? You took a vow to be dead from the waist down?” Sarcasm edged his words, sharp as a razor blade.

Jensen looked up, his eyes narrowed in anger, but he refused to allow Jared to bait him. Turning he walked away, his gaze locked on the wall that had been painted over. Behind him, he could hear Jared stand and move closer.

“Come on. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You know the way I feel about you. Come on, I’m not blind.”

Turning Jensen began to gather his things, the thought that he’d stepped over the line popping up among his other tumultuous thoughts. He felt Jared’s hand touch his shoulder, big and warm, and he wished that he could accept this, that he could feel Jared’s hands on his naked flesh. Instead of giving in though, he shrugged Jared’s touch away. He grabbed Jared’s biceps and pushed him back with a glare. “No,” he growled low in his throat.

The sweetness that had laced Jared’s voice until then vanished, replaced quickly with spite and anger. “I painted over the fucking wall!” he snapped. “Is that it? I painted over the god damn wall and now I’m no use to you?!” He reached out trying to halt Jensen’s movements, his voice suddenly changing, “Answer me!”

Jensen turned to fend off the attack, but found himself pushed back on his ass into the nearby chair as Jared growled in anger. He looked up into Jared’s eyes, but they were no longer Jared’s eyes and fear welled up, bitter in his mouth. Pushing up with his arms he tried to stand and Jared slammed him backwards again with a demonic howl of anger.

“You’re so proud of your holy abstinence!” Jared screeched as he grabbed Jensen’s arms and flung him around like a rag doll backwards into the opposite wall. Slamming into the lamps, sparks exploded around Jensen as he fell forward on his knees, the bulbs exploding. “Like touching another human being would kill you!” Jared ran forward grabbing the front of Jensen’s shirt and shaking him. “Relationships are dirty little complications to you!”

A grunt escaped Jensen as Jared threw him into the painted wall and he spun wildly, trying to get his balance back. Instead, he ran head first into the mirror, the silvered glass shattering around him and cutting his skin open despite the fact he’d flung his arms up to protect himself. He fell to the floor, rolling, and ended up with his back against the radiator.

“That’s why you became a priest!” With another howl of anger, Jared rushed forward, and got down in his face. “It has nothing to do with your convenient little stories!” He grabbed Jensen by the front of his shirt again and yanked him to his feet, twisting him around, and flinging Jensen across the room where he slammed into a row of metal storage lockers.

Jensen stumbled and fell back, the lockers falling away from the wall and landing on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs. A wild wind began howling through the loft, a reflection of the anger that bubbled over in Jared’s sharp, fast movements. He stormed forward, grabbed Jensen by his shoulders, and yanked him from beneath the lockers with a strength that terrified Jensen, as if he were no more than a child.

“You’re so proud of your damn church,” Jared growled as he yanked Jensen to his feet, “A church full of fucking virgins and eunuchs!” He shoved Jensen backward through the bathroom door and over the tub, candles scattering wildly.

Jared moved around the tub and squatted down in front of Jensen, who was huffing for breath, and clinging to the edge of the vanity. They just stared at one another, both of them angry, and blood dripping down Jensen’s chin. The eyes that stared out of Jared’s anger twisted face were the same eyes Jensen had witnessed in the alley that night that seemed ages ago. Slowly they both got to their feet, gazes locked, and for a moment, Jensen believed that the violence might be over.

He was wrong.

With a growl of disgust, Jared’s hand shot out, grabbed Jensen’s water-soaked shirt, and he spun him viciously backward and through the frosted glass of the shower door. Jensen grunted in pain as his spine slammed into the tile wall, knocking the air from his lungs again. He slid to the floor of the shower panting in pain and licked the blood from his lip as Jared glared down at him through the shattered door. With a gruff sound, Jared turned and stormed away leaving Jensen to pull himself to his feet, his legs wobbling.

As Jensen stumbled through the bathroom door, the room spinning, he could hear Jared digging through what sounded like a silverware drawer. He looked up to see Jared storming back towards him and he collapsed against the wall, sliding down to sit in the floor. Jared stopped mere inches from him and held up a jagged steak knife, the blade gleaming in the faint light from the windows. With both hands firmly wrapped around the handle, he pointed it at Jensen’s throat, the tip nearly touching his convulsing Adam’s apple.

“How’s your faith these days, Father?!” He shrieked, eyes gleaming with an edge of insanity. “How’s your faith?! This is what you call fucking God!” Before Jensen could even take a breath, Jared turned the knife away, and began slicing into his own forearm. With each sweep of the knife, Jensen flinched as if it cut his own flesh.

“Blood of Christ!” Jared howled golden eyes wild with fury, slicing through the gauze on his wrist, and then slowly forced the blade into the healing wound. He screamed in anger as the blade slid through the thick of his arm and the tip reappeared on the other side. Jensen covered his face, sobs thick in his throat, choking him with sickness, and then Jared’s scream shifted. Now it was actually Jared, sobbing hysterically, as he tore the blade from his arm. The blade, slick with his blood, fell to the floor with a clatter as he stumbled towards the bed, leaving a path of scarlet drops as he shuffled forward, his sobs softening.

When he reached the bed he turned and his eyes met Jensen’s, a plea for help shining brightly in them as he fell back on the mattress. The wind continued howling as Jensen pushed himself to his feet. Just as he managed to get up, blood dripping from his nose, he watched in horror as the mattress flew from the bed frame and hit the opposite wall with a thud. Jared’s body lay there suspended in mid-air, gravitating upward, arms sprawled, and Jensen sucked in a ragged breath, his eyes wide as he stumbled forward. The wind died completely and for a split second, there was nothing but an eerie silence.

As Jensen took another step forward, a boom of thunder roared through the room. Suddenly, the unseen force that suspended him in mid-air yanked Jared upward, his feet crossed one over the other, and his arms spread wide as if he hung from a cross. His head hung forward, his chin resting against his chest, and his tangled hair shadowing his face. Jensen swallowed back the fear that burned his tongue with stomach acid and continued limping towards him. Behind Jared, the dying sun sparkled like a halo around his head through the window and Jensen bit back a sob of both fear and disbelief.

Ever so slowly, Jared lifted his head, his gaze focusing on Jensen, and he began to weep silent tears of blood, trails of scarlet streaking his face. In that precise moment, such sorrow and grief overcame Jensen that he felt as if his heart were shattering. He felt as if he were witnessing the actual crucifixion of Jesus. Then a memory came into focus, sharp and clear, the statue of the Virgin Mother in Belo Quinto. Jared’s head fell to the side, resting on his shoulder as the tears continued to fall from his half-closed eyes, and blood dripped from the wounds in his forearm to the floor.

 Jensen approached Jared and he knew without a doubt now that this was no ordinary case. He felt warmth on his upturned face as he stopped in front of Jared, warmth that spoke of sacrifice, truth, and a depth of love Jensen had never felt in his thirty years. Lifting his trembling hands, he wrapped them around Jared’s ribcage and in his grip Jared’s body, ever so gently, lowered to the ground the force that had possessed him leaving him with faint flower-scented breeze. He slumped forward into Jensen’s arms and his weight brought the confused priest to his knees.

“Blessed Mother,” Jensen whispered into the eerie silence, the sweet scent of jasmine filling his nose, and his own salty tears joining Jared’s bloody ones.

***

A sheet of paper printed out from the fax roll and Father Manners ripped it free, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he studied the jagged writing in the photo. Having seen the writing again he wondered how he’d ever forgotten the message it held. Perhaps, God had chosen only to allow him the memory when it was time to deliver the message. Brother James hadn’t claimed Father Singer had surfaced in Pittsburgh, but who else could it be.

Who but the three of them, outside of Cardinal Lehne, knew the truth?

 

***

Jensen lit the last of the candles near the bed and blew out the match with a soft puff of air. He turned back to the bed where Jared lay sleeping, curled up like an innocent child, and his back to Jensen. It had taken some time to get the bed back where it belonged, the last of his strength used to get Jared, who stood three inches taller, onto the bed and covered with a blanket. He leaned in and brushed the tangle of thick chestnut and magenta hair from Jared’s closed eyes.

“Lord, help me,” Jensen whispered. “Show me what to do? How do I face this thing?”

He drew back his hand, adjusted the blanket around Jared’s slumped shoulders, and turned to go, his heart breaking, and his body aching from the physical battle he’d had with the spirit that had possessed Jared. That’s when his gaze settled on the table and he saw the rosary setting there as if God himself had laid it there for him to find. His fingers moved over the worn beads in familiar and comforting gesture. His gaze drifted back to Jared and he sighed. Perhaps, God had heard his prayer after all, he thought.

Turning away, he moved to the end of the bed and settled his pain wracked body in the chair. He bowed his head, brought the rosary to his split lip, and kissed the crucifix, his eyes drifting shut as he crossed himself. His hands clasped in prayer as he wondered if he were a failure as a priest or just a failure as a man.

“I’ve never seen you pray before.”

He glanced up through his lashes at Jared who was watching him with exhausted eyes. “I haven’t prayed for a very long time,” Jensen confessed as his gaze focused on the rosary.

Jared lifted one hand and motioned Jensen towards the bed. “Come here.” When Jensen hesitated, Jared offered him a weak smile. “No, come on…it’s okay.”

He stood and walked around the bed, dropping the rosary on the table, and settled on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry.”

Glancing up, Jared frowned, “Don’t be sorry, Jensen,” he whispered, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do this to me, you didn’t ask for any of this, and neither did I.”

Jensen sighed, stretching out next to Jared on the mattress among the tangled blankets. “I want to help you, save you,” he smiled a hint of sadness in his expression, “…I don’t want to damn you.”

“You won’t,” Jared pulled him close, their foreheads touching. “I don’t think that God would damn anyone for being in love.” With those words, he cupped Jensen’s face and drew him so close their lips touched.

That was their first true kiss and Jensen decided that despite the collar he wore, Jared was worth the damnation of the deepest pits of hell. His lips parted this time because there was no reason not to open up. This was Jared, one hundred percent, the scent of flowers lingered, but it wasn’t strong in the least. It was a shadow of its former self, a faint reminder of what they’d suffered through just mere hours ago. Within each pain that humanity suffered, a lesson was learned, that was what Brother James had taught Jensen all those years ago. This was a lesson he’d needed to learn, the lesson of unconditional love.

Jared’s tongue slipped past his lips and he found himself remembering how wonderful it felt to taste your lover for the first time. Their tongues curled, at first hesitant and then braver, around one another. As the kiss deepened, Jensen reached up and threaded his fingers through the silken tangle of Jared’s sweat-dampened hair. A soft moan ghosted across his lips and he captured Jared’s breath in his own lungs inhaling and praying that he wasn’t a fool for betraying everything that he’d known for ten years.

Finally, Jared pulled back, taking a breath, eyes wide and filled with a powerful longing. He licked his lips and swallowed hard the taste of Jensen coating his tongue. “Jensen,” his voice was raspy with need, “…I want you inside me.”

Jensen’s eyes widened and he released a ragged breath. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” His dimples deepened as his smile lit up his face and shone in his eyes. “Please.”

That one word sent a thrill through Jensen’s body, his cock swelling with desire. He returned Jared’s smile, one hand lifting, his fingers threading through Jared’s and guided his hand down to settle on the bulge between his trembling thighs. “I want this, too,” he groaned deep in his throat. “It’s just been so long since…”

He couldn’t finish that thought when Jared shifted up, his fingertips tracing along Jensen’s length gently. “It’s okay,” Jared reassured him, “…it’s just like riding a bike, holy man.”

A nervous laugh exploded from Jensen, “So I’ve been told, but you have to promise no more priest jokes.”

“Deal,” Jared purred as he pulled off his over shirt and reached for the buttons on the front of Jensen’s shirt. His fingers paused, tracing the stiff material of the collar. “Tonight you’re just a man and nothing more.” He tugged the collar away and tossed it over the edge of the bed.

Sighing Jensen shook his head, his hands folding over Jared’s, “No, I want to see you first.”

He reached between them and grasped the tail of Jared’s tee shirt tugging it over his head. It joined his discarded collar on the floor and he bit his lip at the sight before him. Jared was nothing but long lean muscle, his abs rippled as he inhaled at Jensen’s hesitate touch. “Jensen, please…” he choked out as Jensen traced the lines of tattoo above his naval.

“What does this mean?” Jensen whispered.

“Strength…” gasping Jared’s eyes fluttered, “…Chinese character.”

Slowly, Jensen’s fingertip smoothed over the cool silver of the bar through his naval and smiled. “It suites you,” he continued down to tug gently on the dark trail of downy hairs below Jared’s belly button. “So do the piercings. You do know that tattoos and piercings are considered spiritual markings in some cultures.”

With a groan, Jared lifted his head, eyes wide, and pupils blown. “And I care why?” He gasped as Jensen thumbed the tiny barbell again. “Please…quit teasing, Jensen.”

Jensen hushed him and tugged at the button fly, buttons popping off with a loud ping, and scattering across the sheets. As he peeled Jared’s pants down, he sighed at the sight of his cock, hard and ready, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He leaned in and licked at the slick head and a shudder rippled through Jared. Jensen glanced up and smiled wide before he went back to working the tight leather pants down the swell of Jared’s muscular thighs. His cock popped free of its confines and slapped back against Jared’s stomach and a whine escaped his parted lips.

“Slow down,” Jensen tried to sooth him as he tugged the pants further, until Jared’s feet, long and slender slid free. “No hurry tonight.”

Kicking off his shoes, Jensen peeled off his socks and tossed everything into the growing pile at the side of the bed. With a sigh he sat back on his heels and looked, really looked at the gorgeous man laid out before him like some movable feast. He swallowed hard and licked his lips at the sight that greeted him. Stretched out against the tangled sheets, Jared was one long line of honey-gold skin stretched taunt over the swell of well-toned and defined muscles, his nipples tight dusky nubs. Between his thighs, his cock lay nestled in a bed of coarse dark curls, long and thick, curled back against the flat plane of his stomach. The swollen head glistened, a deep purplish-rose in the flickering candlelight a single clear bead of pre-cum shimmering at the tip like the most precious of jewels.

A part of him was fearful of what he was about to do. This was exactly the reason why he’d fled to the seminary, he’d fallen in love before, fallen for a young man he’d went to college with, but Jared was the total opposite of Justin. Justin had been blond and blue-eyed with what most people would refer to as a superhero jaw line. Jensen had never been in love before much less with a guy. Raised in the church, he'd been taught at an early age that it was wrong to lie with another man and that in and of itself had made him coming out difficult. His family had been good people, but the affair he’d had with Justin had been a secret he couldn’t share.

Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt and shucked it over the curve of his broad shoulders, the material rustling as he tossed it to the floor. Jared watched him with kaleidoscope eyes that reminded him of a kitten he’d had as a child back in Richardson a lifetime ago. He could see the need for love that he felt himself, reflected in those beautiful eyes and his heart began to race. Palms sliding down his flat stomach he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his slacks as he slid from the bed. Jared’s gaze followed his every move. He dropped his slacks and color bloomed across his cheeks as Jared eyed him, golden gaze settling on the juncture of his thighs where his cock curled up, half-hard.

“You’re beautiful,” Jared purred, pulling up on his knees. “Sit down.”

Jensen shivered, whether in fear or embarrassment, he couldn’t say, but he did as Jared asked. He wondered if this was a one-time thing or if perhaps this was his second chance to find the happiness he’d had with Justin. Eyes lowered he watched as Jared slipped from the bed, all sinewy muscle and rippling skin that glowed in the shimmering candlelight, and knelt between his trembling thighs.

“You’re scared,” it was a comment rather than a question. “You don’t need to be scared, Jen. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

His hands settled on Jensen’s thighs, stroking the downy golden hairs that covered his pale skin and made Jensen tremble and sigh. “I’m not scared of you,” he whispered. “I’m scared of what I’ll have left after this.”

Jared’s eyes sparkled with a brightness that was ethereal. “You’ll have me.” His hand slid up Jensen’s thigh, so big, yet graceful and gentle before his fingers curled around the base of his cock and Jensen hissed in pleasure at that first intimate touch. “I want to suck your cock,” he whispered and dipped his head, his warm tongue, flicking out to catch a bead of pre-cum as it oozed from his slit. The candlelight caught on the silver of the piercing in his tongue and shimmered.

“Jesus…” Jensen moaned softly as Jared continued lavishing the tip of his cock with gentle kitten licks, the cool metal a counterbalance to the moist heat of his tongue. “Please, Jared.”

“Please what?” Jared purred his head cocked to the side, eyes gleaming with a mix of need and amusement. “Please this?”

He ducked his head, bangs shadowing his eyes, and swallowed the head of Jensen’s swelling erection. Jensen nearly flew off the bed at the feel of Jared’s hot moist mouth engulfing him. He threw back his head, his breath coming in ragged pants, as Jared took him deeper, hollowing his cheeks as he began to bob his head slowly. His tongue curled around him, teasing the vein that ran along his length, and then he pulled up the tip sliding beneath the crown. The tiny bead of metal catching and tugging like a chill finger, then as he curled his tongue up further, pressing into the seeping slit at the tip.

Jensen’s breathing became ragged and he reached out, cupped Jared’s head in his palms, and forced him to pull back from his throbbing cock. “God, Jared…can’t…I’ll come before I can…”

Glancing up through his lashes, Jared smiled, his tongue darting out to slide slowly over his swollen lips. “Fuck me?” He whispered seductively.

“Yes,” Jensen’s cheeks flushed with heat.

Without a word, Jared pulled himself to his feet, and gave Jensen a sidelong glance as he crawled up on the bed, “On my back or on my knees?”

Taking a deep breath, Jensen watched as he crawled across the tangle of sheets, his gaze settling on another tattoo, a beautiful black inked circle that lay nestled in the Jared’s lower back, just above the swell of his ass. He had the sudden urge to trace the ebony spirals of the three-point design within the thick-lined circle with his tongue. As that thought crossed his mind, he glanced up at Jared with a gentle smile, “I want to look in your eyes when I push into you for the first time.”

Jared stretched out on his back and spread his thighs, “Lube’s in the drawer and if you want there’s protection you can find it there, too.” He reached down curling his fingers around his erection and idly stroked himself.

Hands trembling Jensen pulled open the drawer and removed a condom and a tube of slick, then turned back to where Jared lay. He licked his lips and for a moment the fear returned; the fear that he was going to discover that the flames of Hell had swallowed him up for daring to love a man. Gaze drifting over Jared he sighed softly and closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Jared’s voice was like cool silk against his overheated skin. He wasn’t even sure he could do this even though his cock was sure of it, standing hard and ready against his heaving stomach. “I’m still scared,” he whispered.

“Of what?” Jared asked.

“Everything,” was all he could say as his throat threatened to close up.

Jared reached out, his eyes aglow with understanding, and his fingers brushed Jensen’s arm. “It’s okay, I’m scared, too. But if there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s this---whatever this is---it feels right.”

His fingers curled around Jensen’s forearm and he tugged him down on the bed among the tangled sheets, his mouth ghosting softly across Jensen’s as if he could convince him of his resolve with nothing, but the breath in his lungs. Just that whisper of air seemed to lift the weight of doubt from Jensen’s shoulders and he fell into Jared’s arms with a soft sigh. The kiss deepened as he rested his hand against Jared's skin, fingers splayed across the rippling muscles of his stomach, and Jensen smiled as he felt the heat and weight of his desire brush his wrist.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Jensen whispered against his mouth, “and nothing anyone does or says, can change that for one minute.”

“Then don’t worry about.” Jared grinned as he grasped Jensen’s hand and guided it down between his thighs. “I want you inside me, on top of me, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Jensen slid up and over Jared’s prone body and flipped open the cap of the slick, coating his fingers, and then dropped the bottle to the mattress. “How much?” he asked.

A faint sigh ghosted past Jared’s lips as his hips thrust up, his cock bouncing against his belly, and groaned. “As much as you’ve got to offer…maybe more.” he spread his legs wider, hooking his hands behind his thighs, and pulled his legs back until his body bent in half. “Do it,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Slowly Jensen slid one finger along the crease of Jared’s ass from his balls to the tight pucker of his asshole, the tip circling gently, and beneath his touch, he could feel the muscle twitch. He smiled down at Jared as he slowly worked his slick finger inward, the muscle stretching and clinging. “God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, “are you sure?”

Jared glanced down at him and a burst of annoyed laughter escaped him. “That’s not enough. I want it all.” He cried out as Jensen curled his finger applying pressure to that one spot that had his pelvis on fire. Head thrown back he bit his lower lip as Jensen worked a second finger deep inside him, stretching him open further, and his heart began pounding. “Yes,” he hissed softly, “more, Jen. Can’t wait to have you buried inside me, filling me up,” he gasped.

Above him, Jensen watched in awe as Jared’s body accepted a third finger with a tight welcoming embrace of heat. Beads of perspiration along Jared’s thighs, stomach, and chest caught the candlelight giving his skin a glow that caused Jensen’s throat to close up with emotions he’d thought long dead. This moment was one that he doubted he would ever forget in this life or even the next. It was in this moment that he finally knew what perfect trust and love truly was and he’d never had that in his relationship with Justin.

“Jen,” Jared gasped as Jensen glanced up, their eyes meeting. “I need you.”

Three simple words, but they were all Jensen needed to hear. He pulled his fingers free and reached for the condom, ripping it open and rolling it over his throbbing flesh. Their eyes never strayed as he reached for the lube and slicked his length up. Tossing it to the side, he shifted in between Jared’s quivering thighs and positioned the tip of his cock at his opening. Jensen took a deep breath and pushed forward, losing himself in the feel of Jared’s body surrounding him inch by inch. Jared’s back arched up off the mattress, his broad shoulders pressing down into the pillows, and his neck stretching back as he cried out in pleasure.

Jensen’s heart thundered against his ribs in a rhythm that had him wishing with every ragged breath that he took that he’d found Jared years ago instead of Justin. All the pain he’d suffered and the fear he’d felt washed away in the ripple of Jared’s flesh around his. It was for Jensen the feel of coming home and as he slid those last couple of inches, his eyes fluttered shut. Jared’s legs curled around his hips, the heels of his long slender feet coming to rest against the soft hollow above the curve of his ass, and he pulled Jensen closer his muscles flexing in his thighs.

The soft whisper that shocked Jensen’s from his thoughts was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. “Move, Jen, please,” Opening his eyes he met Jared’s shining gaze and he knew without a doubt that this would be forever no matter what else might happen, “Now, Jen.”

Slowly he pulled back and Jared let out a choked sob and squirmed beneath him, his legs tightening around Jensen’s body and his hips rolling. “Sweet, Jesus…” Jensen hissed and pushed forward again with a deep thrust and leaned forward, bracing his weight on his arms. “Feel so damn good, Jay.”

Jared laughed a bittersweet sound that made Jensen’s heart ache. “Yeah,” he reached up cupping Jensen’s sweat dampened face, and pulled him down into a slow lingering kiss. When he finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathless and he smiled. “This is where we both belong.” Jared whispered, “God wouldn’t damn us for finding the other half of our souls.”

Throwing his head back, Jensen laughed as he hadn’t in years, and began thrusting harder. The only sound in the room were their voices, winding around one another in a powerful joining of not just bodies, Jensen thought, but of their hearts and souls. He’d always been meant to be here, in this place, of that he was sure. Perhaps everything he’d suffered, every step he’d taken, had been God’s plan after all. He knew one thing though. No matter what he would save Jared, he would go to the ends of creation and back again to keep this beautiful man safe. And if that meant he had to sacrifice his entire existence, the life he’d created, he would.

“Just let go.”

Jensen’s smile widened as he leaned in claiming Jared’s mouth in a desperate kiss. He hoped that everything he was feeling Jared would feel as well in that joining of lips, teeth, and tongue. With a groan, he pulled back, “For you, Jared, anything.” His hips thrust forward with a sharp roll and Jared cried out again. “Anything and everything to keep you here with me,” he promised as his thrusts sped up.

In Jared’s eyes and expression, he saw everything he’d ever wanted from this life. The flush of desire that glowed from beneath his skin combined with what Jensen could see in his eyes called to a part of him he’d shut away long ago in fear. Now that the fear was gone, washed away in the light of Jared’s smile, it all felt right. There was no doubt, no confusion; there was only the intense pleasure, and the feel of belonging. His hips sped up with each thrust as he leaned in and began suckling at the pulsing vein along the smooth length of Jared’s throat. Jared moaned deep in his throat and turned his head to give Jensen better access to his throat.

“Jen, God…I…”

He pressed a moist kiss to Jared’s pulse and hushed him. “Perfect…sweet mother…wanted this from the moment I saw you.”

As he hit Jared’s prostate with the next thrust, Jared’s body arched beneath his, his legs tightening around Jensen’s waist, and pulled him close, “Me, too.” His breath was coming in ragged gasps now and Jared realized how close he was. “Please, Jen…gonna come…”

Jensen groaned as he thrust forward again and he felt his own orgasm building to a peak in his gut as his balls drew up, high and tight, “Me, too.” Growling he turned his head and kissed his way along Jared’s jaw line to his ear, nipping at his ear lobe, “Can’t hold on much longer.”

Whimpering, his ass tightening around the thickness, Jared turned, his lips brushing Jensen’s cheekbone. “Now, gonna come now, Jen…” his spine bowed and he screamed out, eyes clenched tight, as he came without one touch, his cock spurting ropes of pearly cream between their sweating bodies, splattering both their chests and bellies.

“Jesus!” Jensen hissed seconds later as Jared’s ass convulsed around his cock. His hips stuttered and with one final thrust, he buried himself so deep in Jared he doubted he would have the strength to pull himself free.

His orgasm was so intense he blacked out for a moment. When he came back to consciousness, he was still inside Jared, his cock softening, and sprawled across his sweat-slicked chest. He mumbled softly pressing his lips against Jared’s heaving chest right above his heart and then rolled his head so he could see him. Jared’s face was flushed a rosy gold, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, but he still managed to smile.

“Jen, you’re damn heavy,” he groaned.

With a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan, Jensen pushed up. He managed somehow to extricate himself from Jared’s still twitching ass, slipped off the condom, knotting it, and tossed in the nearby trash bin. Shifting to his side, he curled one leg around Jared and pulled him close for a sweet, slow kiss. “Do I still have you?” Jensen whispered against Jared’s lips.

“Yes,” Jared sighed, “no matter what.”

As Jensen’s eyes grew heavy, he felt Jared pull the blankets up over their entwined bodies and he sighed, snuggling into his chest. Maybe he’d damned himself for this blatant betrayal of his vows, but if this were Hell, then he couldn’t begin to imagine Heaven.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**September 25, 2007** ****  
**Pittsburgh** **, Pennsylvania** ****  
**2:00 AM**

 

A black Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of Jared’s building, the rain pounded around it nearly flooding the city’s streets, the sunlit day having turned into a stormy night. The passenger side door opened and Father Morgan stepped out, opening a huge black umbrella against the rain, and stepped to the rear door as it opened. A dark figure stepped from the car and adjusted the collar of its coat while another figure stepped from the other rear door. Beneath the shadows of the umbrellas, the three men headed for the front entrance of the building.

 

***

 

Upstairs in the loft, Jared and Jensen lay tangled beneath the blankets sleeping, a peaceful expression on both of their faces. A faint knock echoed through the apartment and Jensen shifted in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open for a second as he pulled out of his deep rest. He blinked and sighed, his eyes drifting shut again when the knock echoed through the silence again. Lifting his head, he blinked and tried to shake the final vestiges of sleep from his mind.

 

***

 

Outside in the hall Father Morgan knocked again, then turned to the other two men who stood behind him.

 

“Go in.”

 

With a quick nod, Father Morgan tried the door, and it swung open with a soft creak to reveal the chaos left behind from Jared’s possession. Furniture over turned, broken glass, and as Father Morgan slowly moved in he glanced back at his two companions, Cardinal Lehne and Father Kripke, with a frown. As they moved around the corner, past the partition, all their eyes met with the sight of Jensen sitting on the edge of the bed, one of the blankets loosely wrapped around his naked body. Cardinal Lehne pushed past Morgan and Kripke, a cold harshness in his eyes, and cleared his throat.

 

Jensen glanced up, his eyes wide in shock, “Fredric.”

 

“We had come to help, but I see that you’ve helped yourself.” There was a bitter edge to Cardinal Lehne’s tone. He turned to Father Kripke whose gaze shone with self-righteous disgust at the sight before him. “Take the boy to the Archdiocese straight away.”

 

As Jensen silently watched, unable to think of any way to explain why he was naked in Jared’s bed, Lehne moved around the bed, his gaze focusing on the far wall. Kripke joined him, his nose wrinkled in disapproval at the lingering scent of sweat and sex. He unfolded a piece of paper, a copy of one of the photos Jensen had sent Brother James and glanced at Cardinal Lehne. Fredric nodded in silent agreement as he turned back to the bed.

 

“This as you can imagine is unacceptable.”

 

Jensen’s eyes narrowed as Jared slowly woke next to him, rubbing his eyes. “I won’t make excuses, but this situation is about far more than you think.”

 

“Jensen?” Jared mumbled as he looked between the two men who were facing off.

 

He opened his mouth to say more, but Father Morgan stepped around the bed holding out a robe to him, his eyes filled with a mix of disapproval and curiosity. “Please, Jared, come with me.”

 

Confusion filled his voice as he glanced over his shoulder at Jensen. “What’s going on? Jensen, who are these men? What are they doing in my apartment?”

 

Gaze shifting to Jared’s panicked expression Jensen smiled softly, and spoke up. “Everything is going to be okay, Jared. Just get dressed and go with Father Morgan. I’ll join you in a few moments.”

 

Jared nodded and accepted the robe, slipping it on, and sliding from the bed. “Jen?”

 

“Just go,” Jensen’s gaze drifted back to Cardinal Lehne, “I promise I’ll come for you.”

 

With one final glance over his shoulder, Jared grabbed a pair of jeans and his boots and followed Father Kripke and Father Morgan out. A silence descended over the loft as Jensen slowly stood and retrieved his slacks, pulling them up beneath the blanket, and then dropped the blanket to the floor. He cleared his throat to catch Cardinal Lehne’s attention from the painted wall.

 

“What the hell are you doing, Fredric?”

 

Cardinal Lehne turned his eyes narrowed, “I could ask the same of you, Jensen, but I believe the picture was all too clear.” He stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Jensen’s face. “I sent you to do a job and what do I find, but you’ve decided your oath to the church is less important than getting a piece of…” he flapped his hand in a disgusted gesture.

 

“You didn’t send me to do a job,” Jensen snorted as he pulled on his shirt, eyes flaring in anger. “You sent me on what you believed was a wild goose chase, but for some reason you’re here now.” He stepped closer the muscles in his jaw twitching. “What is it about Jared that has you coming out of that precious office of yours in Rome?”

 

Sniffing Lehne stepped around Jensen and headed for the door, his robes swishing. “That my dear Jensen is only for those of the church to know.”

 

Jensen stormed across the room and grabbed Lehne’s arm, yanking him around. “I’m still a priest and Jared is part of my investigation.”

 

Lip curled, Lehne snarled in utter disgust. “Not for long.”

 

As he watched Cardinal Lehne close the door, Jensen sighed, and rubbed his hand over his jaw. He’d fucked up royally he got that, he couldn’t change what he’d done, but even if he could, he wouldn’t. Being a priest had been his way of running from a truth he hadn’t been able to accept, but now he had, and he wasn’t going to turn his back on Jared. He didn’t trust Cardinal Lehne, hell, he never had. Now though there was far more to lose.

 

***

 

Sitting on the end of the bed, Jensen watched as the nuns settled Jared in for the night. He’d had to take his own car to the Archdiocese, but that didn’t surprise him. What had surprised him was the fact that Jared had taken a shower, dressed in pajamas, and was sleeping by the time he’d got past the guards at the gate.

 

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, sister.” He whispered, and then stood dropping the rosary he’d taken from Jared’s loft on the bedside table.

 

With a final glance at Jared’s flushed face he swallowed hard. He had the sinking feeling that Lehne had given Jared something, a sleeping pill perhaps, that had made him pass out so quickly, but he didn’t have proof. At this point, he wouldn’t put anything past Lehne because he knew that this _job_ as Lehne had called it was far more than he ever imagined. Something big was happening and he knew in his heart of hearts that it had something to do with Belo Quinto. Why else would Lehne come to the states personally to check up on him?

 

***

 

“Where did you get this from?” Cardinal Lehne laid a copy of the photos that Jensen had sent Brother James down on the desk. “What does it mean?”

 

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Jensen leaned back in the chair. “Jared wrote it and I don’t have a clue what it says. Neither does he.”

 

“Why was it painted over?” Lehne began to pace, his hands thrust in his pockets. “What language is it in?”

 

“Aramaic,” Jensen whispered, glancing up through his lashes.

 

Lehne turned stepping into Jensen’s personal space. “How do you know that?”

 

“That’s completely irrelevant,” Jensen growled in irritation.

 

Lehne snorted, “What I don’t understand is why _you_ would send this to anyone other than _me_. What have you been hiding from me other than the obvious?” He spit out.

 

“Look, all I know is that Jared is fighting for his life. If he receives another wound…he’ll die, unless we help him.” The last few words nearly choked Jensen as he thought of the possibility of losing Jared.

 

“Right,” Lehne turned away, “As of now I’m taking over this case. Go back to Father Morgan’s and…”

 

Jensen stood his eyes filled with fire. “I’m not going to leave him alone!”

 

Lehne turned, his eyes narrowed, “You’re not leaving him alone. You’re leaving him in the care of the good sisters.”

 

“Damn it!” Jensen yelled, “You sent me here! I didn’t want to come here, but I did! You told me to take care of him and that’s what I did!”

 

“Yes that you did!” Lehne growled.

 

“Don’t you dare!” Jensen roared as he spun and headed for the door, “What is between Jared and I has nothing to do with the Church! He’s in no shape to take on you or the Church!”

 

“This isn’t about a boy who needs to take on me or the Church!” Lehne followed him out of the office and down the hall, his voice rising in anger.

 

“Why are you so obsessed with those photographs? Why are they more important than a young man bleeding to death?!” There was no damn way he was leaving Jared in the lion’s den so to speak. Whatever was going on he was damn well going to find out and he didn’t give a damn whether the Church approved or not. Let Cardinal Lehne get him excommunicated, but he wouldn’t allow him to use Jared for his own agenda.

 

They reached the stairs and Jensen headed up them when Lehne yelled again. “Jensen, what’s happened to you? What’s happened to your loyalty?”

 

Pausing Jensen drew in a ragged breath and spun on Lehne, his face flushed with anger. “Don’t you lecture me on loyalty, Fredric!”

 

“The only reason you’ve been tolerated by the Congregation for so long was because you were a good scientist despite your age. Because of your objectivity, but you’ve lost that!” His voice lowered as he stepped closer, “The last thing I expected to see when I stepped into that apartment was you and that young man wrapped in a lover’s embrace, naked in bed together.”

 

Jensen clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on! Quit being so damn dramatic, Fredric!” he started to turn away, but Lehne stepped around him.

 

“Look, I know you think you’re helping him, but you’re not. If anything he’s getting worse.” Lehne continued his voice softening as Jensen turned away, his gaze lowering to the floor. “Jensen, you’re in no state to help anyone. You’re exhausted. Look at yourself. Go back to Father Morgan’s get some rest and we’ll talk about this in the morning. After all we’re all only human and we all make mistakes.”

 

Sighing softly, Jensen turned to face Lehne, and rubbed at his aching temple. “Just tell me why you’re so obsessed with these photographs.”

 

“Brother James showed them to us,” Lehne replied as he followed Jensen up the stairs, “He seemed to think they were important.”

 

“What do they mean?”

 

Lehne paused and met Jensen’s gaze, lying through his teeth. “We have no idea, but we’re still working on it.”

 

“Does this have anything to do with the Gospel Commission?” Jensen crossed his arms over his chest, the muscle in his jaw jumping from the pressure.

 

Fredric shook his head, “We don’t know. Goodnight, Jensen.”

 

Jensen sighed and headed for the door, his head spinning with everything that had happened. He still didn’t trust Lehne. Actually, he had the distinct impression that he knew far more than he was admitting and considering the way his call had ended with Brother James he doubted that he had shown the photos to Lehne. He did have to admit Lehne was right about one thing, he was exhausted, and on his last bits of strength. There was no way he could help Jared if he didn’t have the strength to do what he had, too.

 

***

 

The trip back to St. Francis was a lonely, drive through the pouring rain, and Jensen had some time to think. He hadn’t wanted to leave Jared at the Archdiocese, but Lehne hadn’t given him much of a choice. Parking his car he headed for the church, his collar lifted up against the icy wind and the driving rain. When he reached the door, he paused, one foot in the warmth, and the other in the chill damp. He glanced over his shoulder and into the storm swept street a chill creeping down his spine and for a split second, he could have sworn he smelled the sweet scent of jasmine.

 

***

 

Over the years, Jensen had always found comfort in the Church both as a simple man and as a priest later. He remembered services back in Richardson when he’d only been a boy and the awe that he’d felt. Everything had been simpler at that age, but then for children there was only black and white, no shades of gray, that was an adult complication. He bowed his head, hands clasped against his chin, and prayed for the second time in two days.

 

“Jensen Ackles?”

 

His head jerked up at the sound of a gruff voice echoing through the chapel. A tall slender man approached him, his gray hair swept back and brushing his shoulders. “I want to see Singer.”

 

Jensen turned away, “I don’t know any Singer.”

 

The man drew closer and pulled a sheet of folded paper from his coat pocket. “Brother James faxed me a copy of his document.” He held it out to Jensen, one eyebrow quirking.

 

Taking the paper, Jensen reached in his pocket for his glasses and slipped them on with a soft sigh. “Jared wrote this,” He whispered, “I saw him do it. What is it?”

 

Settling into the pew next to Jensen the stranger glanced up at the front of the chapel. “Maybe the most significant Christian relic ever discovered.”

 

Jensen frowned, “Why?”

 

“It’s an Aramaic scroll from the first century that was discovered, uh, near the caves of the Dead Sea Scrolls outside Jerusalem. Singer and I concluded that it is a Gospel…of Jesus Christ…in his own words, Aramaic. But there are some factions in the Vatican that believe that this document could destroy the authority of the modern church.”

 

“How?” Jensen asked, his eyes shining with confusion.

 

Shifting in the pew, the stranger met Jensen’s eyes, “It was Jesus’ own word to his disciples on the night of his last supper. It was his instructions to them, on how to continue his church after his death.”

 

“But how can that be…so threatening?”

 

“When we gave our initial conclusions to the Gospel Commission Lehne ordered us to stop our work immediately. Singer refused then stole the document and disappeared. Lehne had us excommunicated in our absence.”

 

Jensen slipped his glasses off, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, the dull ache of his previous headache a throbbing pain now. “And you have no idea where he is? No idea at all?”

 

The elder man shook his head, “No, he doesn’t want to be caught until he finishes the translation. I will show you this.” Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he pulled a faded black and white photo out. “This is Brother James, Father Singer, and I…we worked on translating the new Gospel between us.”

 

“I know this man,” Jensen’s eyes widened as he sucked in a shocked breath, “Nearly a month ago in Brazil.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes,” Jensen nodded, “he’s dead.”

 

“How do you know this?”

 

Jensen frowned as he recalled the little church in Brazil, “I saw him in his coffin, in the church at Belo Quinto.”

 

A sigh ghosted past the other man’s lips as he turned to focus on the crucifix above the altar, “Then it’s all over…it’s gone forever.”

 

Despite what this stranger may think, it wasn’t over, not by a long shot, Jensen thought. He took a deep calming breath and spoke again. “Why was your work halted? What was so threatening about this Gospel?”

 

Standing, the stranger moved from the pew and into the main aisle, turned, arms lifted as he motioned to the opulent and spectacular beauty around them. “Look around you, Father. What do you see?”

 

Jensen frowned, “I see a church.”

 

The elder priest, if he was what he said, turned, eyes filled with amusement. “It’s just a building. The true church of Jesus Christ is _so_ much more. Not buildings made of wood and stone. I love Jesus I need no institution between him and me. See,” he motioned to the crucifix that hung above the altar, “Just God and Man…no priests and no churches.” He turned back to Jensen, a look of utter peace on his face, “The first words in Jesus’ Gospel are…” he pointed at Jensen, “The Kingdom of God is inside you and all around you. Split a piece of wood and I am there. Lift a stone and you…”

 

“You will find me.” Jensen whispered, realization lighting up his eyes.

 

“Yes, Father,” the priest, replied, voice filled with joy.

 

Jensen glanced down at the photo still clutched in his hand. “Why is Father Singer wearing gloves?”

 

Settling against the edge of the pew, the priest bowed his head. “Singer was a tormented man, a holy man, a very holy man. He wore the gloves to hide the wounds of the stigmata.”

 

“He has the stigmata,” Jensen nodded his head in understanding at last, “That’s why. He’s just his messenger.”

 

Glancing down at the photo in his grip, Jensen closed his eyes. They’d all been wrong about Jared’s affliction. He turned and met the other man’s gaze and in that moment he knew if Jared were to live, only he could save him. He was the only one who knew the truth or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Cardinal Lehne knew as well, maybe that was the secret Jensen had known in his gut that Lehne had been keeping. And if that were the case, he had to get back to the Archdiocese---back to Jared.


	12. Chapter 12

**September 25, 2007** ****

**Pittsburgh** **Archdiocese**

**4:00 AM**

 

“Almighty God, bless your humble servant,” Cardinal Lehne whispered as he knelt at his own personal altar, the candlelight flickering across his face. “Guide me with your holy spirit and forgive me for I have sinned exceedingly…”

 

On the other side of the small bed, Father Kripke stood, the stiff white cotton of his formal gown glowing in the pale light. He sat down two black leather volumes on the bed with trembling hands then placed a shallow silver bowl filled with holy water on the Bible. The preparations must be precise and without flaw, he thought. Tonight he would be assisting Cardinal Lehne in a ritual that dated back centuries, one that the church denied publicly, but held close to its bosom in private. Few men knew the details outside the hierarchy of the church and fewer still had been trained in its use for it took a righteous man of strength to perform an exorcism.

 

***

 

Jared woke from the drug-induced sleep he’d been in and reached for the rosary that lay on the bedside table. A feeling of familiarity moved through him as he wrapped the strand of well-worn rosewood beads around his hand. In the flickering candle light he closed his eyes, thumb tracing the crucifix that dangled from the end, and he remembered.

 

_A small room in a crumbling church, the candle light soft and evanescent in the wee hours of the morning. Shadows danced across the crumbling limestone walls as he pressed his lips reverently against the tiny figure of Christ, pinned upon the cross by the hands of man. He knew the pain of God’s gift to humanity, his son, upon whom the salvation of all mankind depended on._

_Jesus Christ of Nazareth, son of the Virgin Mary, raised by the humble carpenter Joseph as his own son, although he knew that he was not. An innocent child that had faced death long before he’d been born into this world, one who had inspired centuries of devotion from followers across the world, but the church had lied._

_These pages written nearly 2,000 years prior to this moment proved the deception of the church over centuries. They had used Christ’s life, his sacrifice, to fill their coffers and they used an iron fist to control their worshippers. Centuries of lies and violence against those who chose to deny the church their reparation and worship God as it had been intended from the moment of creation were about to be proven a deceitful conspiracy._

_He pressed his lips once more to the crucifix and lifted his gaze heavenward. A light shone in his eyes as he whispered softly. “They will know the truth, Lord. I swear by all that is holy that your children will know the truth.”_

Lying back on the pillows Jared allowed the scent of flowers to seep into his very pores, the peace of those memories, although not his own, calmed the fear of earlier. Hands folded over his chest, he sighed softly. His mind drifted in a haze of peace as a prayer ghosted past his lips.

 

***

 

The storm had worsened if that were even possible, Jensen thought as he guided his rental car through sheets of water. He didn’t care at this point about anything, but Jared. He recalled the taste of his lips, the warmth of his body, and the scent of his golden skin as he guided the car through the tangled streets of Pittsburgh. He had to get to him, speak with him, and perhaps, God willing, save him from the power that had infected his soul.

 

***

 

“My sins deserve your punishments,” Lehne whispered, his voice growing stronger, “Because they have crucified my loving savior Jesus Christ. Amen.”

 

Father Kripke lifted his head as Cardinal Lehne’s prayer ended and he wondered what he would witness this night. He also wondered if the Cardinal would succeed in freeing the young man down the hall from his possession by the demons of hell.

 

***

 

Car horns blared as Jensen pressed his foot to the gas pedal, speeding up, and weaving in and out of early morning traffic. He chewed his lip nervously as he sent a silent prayer heavenward, hoping beyond hope that God could forgive him for all the sins he’d committed. He prayed also that God would give him the strength to save the one soul that had accepted him flaws and all in his lonely life.

 

***

 

In the fireplace, logs crackled, golden flames licking at the blackened brick walls as distant footsteps approached the room where Jared lay sleeping. The door creaked open and a priest approached the bed, glanced at Jared, and then proceeded to light the pillar candles that lined the bedside table. A second priest approached the bed and ran one hand along Jared’s brow as the first untangled the rosary from his folded fingers.

 

Startled awake, Jared rolled his head to the right, and met the priest’s gentle gaze as he lifted the rosary from Jared’s grasp. He glanced back at the other priest and frowned just as he heard heavy footsteps approach the bed. His gaze shifted to the foot of the bed and he met Cardinal Lehne’s dark, emotionless eyes. Father Kripke stood next to him, silent and stern, a small bowl cupped in his palms.

 

Cardinal Lehne cleared his throat and started to speak as the priests grasp Jared’s wrists, pulling his arms to his sides. “Lord, do not remember our sins or those of our forefathers…”

 

He began to twist against the firm grip of the priests and his eyes widened in fear. “Where’s Jensen?”

 

Father Kripke joined in, his voice even and calm, “And do not punish us for our offenses.”

 

“Lead us not into temptation.”

 

“And deliver us from evil.”

 

Panic sat in as Jared listened to the words that rose and fell in the silent room. His captors tightened their grip on his wrists as he began struggling harder. Whatever was happening he wanted no part of it, all he wanted was Jensen.

 

“Save this man, your servant.”

 

Jared thrashed against the mattress, grunting in pain, but nothing seemed to shake the men free who had him pinned. The burn of bile rose in his throat as he listened to Father Kripke softly chanting in Latin beneath his breath and Jared began to twist wildly, kicking at the blankets that covered his legs.

 

Cardinal Lehne’s voice rose in cadence as he continued to speak. “Spirit of lust, by the power of Jesus Christ I command you, come out of his body now and for always!”

 

Gnashing his teeth, Jared stretched his neck trying to bite the nearest priest. His back arched and his head thrashed back and forth against the pillows. A deep howling erupted from his lips as his legs pounded the mattress in fury.   

 

“Spirit of hatred, by the power of Jesus Christ I command you, come out of his body now and for always!” Father Kripke’s voice swelled above the rage filled howls that bounced off the walls.

 

Lehne drew up to his full height as the howls deepened, “In the name of Jesus Christ…”

 

Suddenly Jared sat up, eyes golden and pupils wide, straining against the grip of the two priests that held him down. “Siete uomini ciechi! I vostri occhi sono aperti, ma non vedete niente!”

 

Turning, Lehne dipped his fingers in the bowl Kripke still held, wetting his fingertips, and flung the holy water in Jared’s face. Jared howled in anger and laughed, his voice hollow, and filled with disgust.

 

“Why do you persecute me?!” Jared screamed as the very walls began to vibrate.

 

Behind them, a portrait of the Virgin leapt from the wall and crashed to the floor taking out a vase of flowers that shattered. The pieces on a nearby chess set began hopping across the board, tipping, and popping off the table and to the floor in a cascade of ebony and ivory. Another howl tore from Jared, his back twisting, and the mirror above the dresser exploded in a shower of silvered glass.

“And give him heavenly protection!” Kripke yelled as the air began to swirl around them.

 

“Lord, hear my prayer let the enemy have no victory over him!” Lehne screamed as he thrust his bejeweled cross into Jared’s anger contorted face.

 

Jared pulled forward screaming madly as his eerie gold eyes lifted heavenward. “LORD!!! Your servant dripping with blood begs you!” A lamp flew from the dresser and crashed to the floor. “Your servant begs you!!”

 

***

 

Jensen’s gut twisted in a knot as he spun the car around the corner, a sluice of water rising up around him, and splashing across the windshield. Something was wrong, he thought as he tried to breath around the bitter lump lodged in his throat. He should have never left Jared in the care of that extremist bastard. He should have insisted on staying.

 

***

 

Lehne leaned in over Jared, eyes wide with a madness that only came from those whose world had been shook to the core. “Embrace me, my child. I am the church!” he gasped.  

 

Reaching out, muscles taunt, Jared ripped from the grasp of the now frightened priests. His long graceful fingers curled into the material of Lehne’s robes and he yanked him forward. As their gazes locked, Jared snarled. “Siete il nemico allineare della chiesa, Lehne!”

 

Father Kripke’s eyes widened in shock at Jared’s words, then he stepped forward grasping Lehne’s shoulders, trying to pull him back. Lehne paid him no heed as he growled in Jared’s face. “I am the church!” As Kripke tried to pull him away again, he lashed out at him, eyes shining in fear and anger. “Get off of me!”

 

Grunts and howls filled the room as Jared thrashed a fish out of water, kicking the blankets askew. The two priests tried to get a grip on him, but his strength and agility had increased, his fisted hands leaving bruises behind on their flesh as his anger swelled, a tsunami of emotion held back for far too long.

 

Lehne grabbed the sleeve of Father Kripke’s robe, “Get them out of here!” He nodded at the other two priests who were now cowering against the wall.

 

“Eminence!”

 

“Get out!” Lehne screamed over his shoulder.

 

With a quick nod, Father Kripke grabbed each man by a sleeve and together the three men fought their way through the chaos of the room to the door. As soon as they slipped out, the door slamming behind them, Cardinal Lehne turned back to the bed.

 

“Save this man, O’ Lord!” Lehne screamed as he fought against Jared’s bucking body. “Save this man, your servant!” And then his hands slipped around Jared’s throat, his fingers tightening as he pushed him into the mattress.

 

***

 

Outside the walls of the Archdiocese Jensen’s car came over the hill, tires screeching along the slick asphalt. In the chill interior of the car, he was praying beneath his breath as he turned the wheel, the car spinning around the curvature of the winding road and through the gates that stood like two sentries on either side of the driveway, nearly hitting another car in the process.

 

“Dear God, please…”

 

***

 

“Send him to the holy place!” Lehne screamed over the howling wind. “Give him your holy protection!”

 

Jared gasped and grunted clawing desperately at Lehne’s hands as they tightened. Beneath the fringe of his sweat-dampened hair, his eyes widened, his face flushing scarlet. His hands slapped and clawed weakly as his lips began to turn blue.

 

“Save this man O’ Lord! Let the enemy have no victory over him!”

 

Beneath him, Jared’s struggles were weakening, his eyes rolling back in his head as he slowly suffocated. He was wheezing now deep in his bruised throat and he knew without a doubt this was it. He was dying and his last thought as his peripheral vision grayed out was of Jensen and the only moment of true joy, he’d had in six years.

 

***

 

Downstairs Jensen pounded desperately on the front door until the skin split on his knuckles. Just as he was ready to give up, the door swung open and he pushed his way past the young nun who stood there, a look of fear in her wide dark eyes. Above them, the distant crash of heavy objects and muffled screaming echoed through the building, an explanation for the fear he saw in the young nun’s eyes. He pushed past her and tore up the stairs cursing himself for a fool for the millionth time since he’d left St. Francis.

 

***

 

Jared’s gasping was becoming weaker as was his attempts to fight off Cardinal Lehne’s murderous hands. His final gasp came out as a gagging sound as Lehne’s fingers flexed his eyes empty of everything, but his rage at this upstart young man.

 

“Send him help from the holy place, O’ Lord!”

 

His limbs spasmed as Jared’s eyes fluttered shut and his hands fell away from Cardinal Lehne, limp and lifeless. The Cardinal’s teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he continued to squeeze what he believed was the last of Jared’s life from his twitching body. The boy had to die, it was that simple, and he knew this was what his God would want. The message he was broadcasting was sacrilege, heresy, and he had to protect his faith---his church.

 

***

 

Jensen was taking the stairs two and three at a time as he ran up the staircase, leaving a trail of rainwater as he ran. His chest was heaving and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He reached the top floor and ahead of him, he could hear the crashing of heavy objects, the howling of wind and above it all Cardinal Lehne’s voice. He couldn’t hear the words, but he could hear the madness and before he even reached the door, he knew.

 

“JARED!!” he screamed as he headed down the hallway, his shoes skidding on the hardwood floor. “Jared!”

 

He turned the corner as his heart began to shatter and his gaze focused in on Father Kripke pacing the hall. The other man lifted his head as he heard the pounding of Jensen’s feet and his scream. He immediately moved to block the double doors.

 

“Is he in there?!” Jensen screamed in anger.

 

Kripke shook his head. “You can not interrupt.”

 

Jensen’s eyes flared bright with terror and fury, “The hell you say!” Then he was grabbing Father Kripke by the front of his robes and flinging him across the hallway. He turned back to the doors and threw them open, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Cardinal Lehne hunched over Jared’s inert body. “What the hell are you doing?!” he crossed the room at top speed and grabbed Lehne’s shoulders yanking him back and away from Jared.

 

“No! No!” Lehne screamed as Jensen twisted around, flinging him to the floor.

 

Jared sucked in a ragged breath and began to cough as Jensen leaned over him. “Jay, I know what’s happening.”

 

“You have no idea what’s happening!” Lehne shrieked and tore across the room, robes flapping as he reached out to grab Jared again.

 

Jensen lost it in a heartbeat, his face flushed with anger, and he grabbed Lehne again, struggling with him as he pushed him back toward the door. “Get away from him! You lied to me! You tried to silence him!” He threw Lehne through the doors and he hit the floor of the hall.

 

Holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, Cardinal Lehne called out. “Jensen…”

 

“You tried to kill him!” Jensen growled low in his throat as he yanked Lehne to his feet and slammed him into the opposite wall, pinning him with one arm across his throat. “I know everything,” Jensen leaned in applying pressure, “I know how you closed down the Gospel Commission, and I know why! I know why you had Manners and Singer excommunicated!”

 

Lehne shook his head in denial.

 

“I know about the all the lies you’ve been telling!” Spinning Lehne away from the wall and into the opposite one as Kripke watched with wide eyes. “I won’t let you get away with what you did to Jared!”

 

Lehne pulled away from Jensen with a quick motion. “You know nothing! I won’t let you destroy the church!” He pushed out at Jensen’s chest and walked away.

 

Following Lehne, Jensen grabbed his shoulder and slammed him back into the wall. Jensen leaned in and growled softly. “I guarantee you, Fredric, you’ve spent your last days in the church!”

 

Turning away Jensen moved down the hall and back to the room where Jared lay.


	13. Chapter 13

As Jensen pushed the door open, flames exploded from the fireplace and across the floor moving with an unnatural power. The flames writhed and swirled, curling around the table and chair in front of the fireplace and consumed them, the wood feeding the scarlet and gold flames. His gaze shifted from the fire to the bed and to his horror realized that whatever Cardinal Lehne had done he’d only infuriated the spirit.

 

Jared’s body rose slowly from the mattress, eyes reflecting the flames that swirled and licked their way across the floor. There was nothing in his eyes, but a peaceful knowledge that consumed the man buried beneath, the man Jensen had fallen in love with. The flames shot up the posts of the bed, turning the thick drapes into columns of eerie fire that curled and writhed up to the canopy above the bed.

 

Slamming the door behind him, Jensen pressed his spine against the unforgiving wood. “Are you Robert Singer!” he yelled across the room, his determination never wavering. As the fire exploded around them, Jensen took a step forward praying he had the strength he needed to face this passionate inferno. He lifted one hand moving forward slowly, “Give me your wisdom allow me to be your messenger!”

 

Flames licked up the legs of the sideboard and across the top, curling around a vase filled to overflowing with pure white roses. Jensen swallowed hard as the smell of burning wood and sweet flowers filled his nose. Jared’s gaze hardened, an edge of anger gleaming and sharp even through the flames that surrounded him, the heated air lifting his tangled hair and swirling it around his face.

 

Finally, Jared spoke and the voice that ghosted past his lips was his, but haunted by the echo of Father Singer’s spirit. “A messenger believes. A messenger has faith.” his lips twisted in a snarl, tears of blood staining his face. “You have nothing, but doubt.”

 

The flames roared upward, covering the walls of the room, and spreading across the ceiling in a wave of heat as Jensen watched with fearful eyes. The sound of porcelain and glass exploding from the intensity of the flames caused him to flinch and take a step back. He stopped his mind a swirl with everything Father Manners had told him and as he lifted his head, his eyes met Jared’s across the room, and he realized the truth of what Father Singer had discovered.

 

Cautiously, he lifted one hand and stepped forward the flames crackling around him, gaze never leaving Jared’s face. The snarl had faded and only a beatific peace shone in his eyes as he quietly watched Jensen consider the truth of God and the power of his own personal faith. He had no doubt that the God Father Singer had known would not hate him for who he was, this God was not the one of wraith and vengeance that the church terrified their masses with, but rather a God who was accepting and loving. This God, the true God, was a powerful being of compassion and acceptance, the one the Bible only visited on occasion. The moment Jensen made his decision a breath ghosted past Jared’s lips as they parted.

 

Jensen moved a single step forward at a time and the inferno did not touch him, the flames did not burn him, and over the roar, he could hear Jared’s voice. The words that he spoke were soft, melodic, and they were the words of Jesus. Words that he had spoken over 2000 years before around a rough hewn table as he and his disciples sat down to the last earthly meal they would share. Jensen’s gaze never wavered as he continued forward and he could see in his mind’s eye a scene that would stay with him until the day he left this mortal coil.

 

***

 

_Night had fallen, the sky above the desert a smear of pink, gold, and orange fading away into a deep purple that darkened to a midnight blue. A faint breeze stirred the leaves of the olive trees in the garden, and the sound of water trickled over the rough stone of the fountain at the center of the garden. The cloying sweet fragrance of jasmine drifted through the courtyard and through the open windows of house._

_Beyond the window, the clatter of pots and the chatter of men and women rose and fell as they prepared the evening meal. Inside in the main room a long wood table sat, bowls of figs and other fruit, cured meat, and pitchers of wine scattered across its rough-hewn surface. A young girl wove her way through the crowd of men that had gathered, a basket of fresh baked bread propped against her hip, and her eyes lowered to the stone floor._

_She nearly ran into one of the men and her cheeks flushed as she apologized nervously. The man laid one work-roughened hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle, and she glanced up into his dark eyes set in a sun-browned face that shone with such peace and compassion that her breath caught in her throat. He smiled at her and his skin seemed to glow from within with a power that caused her heart to flutter._

_“Fear not child, no harm did you do. May he bless your heart and your soul, child.”_

_She smiled back and a wash of joy and happiness moved over her skin as he moved his hand and she disappeared into the crowd. He watched her go with a gentle smile, and then he turned back to his companions. Motioning to the table, he took a seat, and his arms spread out, wide in love._

_“Tonight we eat and we speak of things to come. I must speak of things that will bring fear upon your heart and mind, but do not fear my friends, rejoice for the kingdom of God is inside you and all around you…”_

 

***

 

“Jesus said the kingdom of God is inside you and all around you,” Jared whispered softly as Jensen moved forward, the flames parting to allow him safe passage, “not in mansions of wood and stone.”

 

Jensen continued forward, one arm raised up to shield his eyes from the brightness of the flames that rose up and danced in joy. He could feel warmth on his face, but it was the warmth of the sun on a hot summer’s day, not the heat of hell. He recalled reading the story of Jesus, of how he’d walked through hell before he’d suffered betrayal at the hands of Judas Iscariot. Jensen had no delusions, but he did have faith, and he knew that the power of God walked with him through this inferno. He lowered his arm and continued forward, Jared’s soft whisper filling his ears and guiding him through the flames.

 

“Split a piece of wood and I am there, lift a stone and you will find me.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Jensen lowered his arm and spoke. “Father Singer, I call upon you to release this young man. Give him grace and do not let him come into the ways of harm.”

 

Jared cried out his back arched and his head turning, his eyes fluttering shut against the pain that spread across his back. He cried out again and tears ran down his cheeks as the pain ripped through his wrists and blood seeped through the bandages surrounding them.

 

“In Jesus Christ we have all been saved. And let us fear no ill.”

 

Jared’s screams grew louder as the pain exploded in his feet, and the wounds on his brow began to bleed, yet Jensen never faltered. His eyes stayed locked on Jared’s pain twisted features and for a moment, the image of Father Singer flickered among the dancing flames.

 

“For Jesus is with us…In the unity of the Holy Spirit, world without end, forever and ever.” Jensen lifted his hand and slowly made the sign of the cross, “God bless your soul Father Singer and go in peace.”

 

With a final heartrending scream, Jared’s body stiffened. Above him, a pure white dove exploded from the rolling flames, its wings flapping wildly as it flew towards the ceiling melting away into nothing. As it vanished, Jared fell backward onto the twisted sheets, silent and still. Jensen released a soft breath and moved to the bed. With strength, he’d never realized he possessed, Jensen bent, lifted Jared’s limp body into a fireman’s carry, and turned back to the door.

 

As he moved to the door, the scent of flowers surrounded him for a moment, and then faded away as the fire that had burned so fiercely moments before pulled back. There was the sound of oxygen sucked away and the fire retreated down walls and drapes. The flames shrank and drew back across the floor and where it drew back there was no damage. It was as if there never had been a fire and if it were not for the smell of ash and smoke Jensen might have believed it had all been a dream.

 

***

 

He moved with silent grace down the stairs and out the door into the garden beyond leaving in his wake a trail of nuns and priests, their faces blanched in shock. He didn’t speak not even when the cool rain-washed morning air hit his face, but he continued his silent passage down the stairs, each step becoming more difficult as he began to weaken under Jared’s dead weight. Stumbling to the bench that sat before a marble statue of St. Francis, Jensen lowered Jared to the bench and sat down. He swallowed hard as he pulled Jared into his arms, the younger man’s head lolling on his shoulder.

 

“Don’t go, Jared.” He whispered his voice thick with unshed tears. “Don’t go.”

 

Jared moaned softly and a small amount of the fear lifted from Jensen’s heart. He cupped Jared’s face in one hand as he supported his head with the other, his fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. Another moan ghosted past Jared’s chapped lips and Jensen swallowed hard, trying to force back the tears that rose in his throat, his eyes sparkling with moisture. His thumb caressed the bruised skin beneath Jared’s eye and Jared’s lids fluttered as he fought his way to consciousness.

 

“Stay with me,” Jensen begged his words soft with need.

 

Slowly Jared’s eyes opened and he met Jensen’s gaze as tears tumbled over the older man’s lashes and down his flushed face. Jared lifted his hand Father Singer’s rosary tangled in his long fingers, and ran his fingertips along Jensen’s trembling jaw. He sighed softly as his fingertips trailed across Jensen’s cheek down to trace the curve of his lips, and then his hand drew back as he lifted his head. Their lips met in a tender slow kiss, their eyes drifting shut as they feed from one another’s mouths as if they were drowning men seeking air.

 

The kiss ended both of them drawing back their eyes focused on one another as a cool breeze blew over them laced with the faint scent of jasmine. Jared stroked his hand slowly down from where his fingers clenched in Jensen’s hair and he sighed in contentment. The sound of a dove captured his attention and as it landed on the birdbath next to the bench he smiled and sat up weakly, Jensen helping him. He carefully got to his feet, Jensen hovering close as he moved across the soft carpet of grass moist with morning dew, trailing the blanket that hung around his shoulders.

 

Stretching one hand out, Jared’s smile widened as the dove’s wings spread and it glided on the wind, coming to rest on his hand. Settled back on the bench Jensen watched as Jared lifted his hand and studied the dove with eyes from which all the pain had faded away. The dove’s wings spread, feathers ruffled, then it took off, wings stretched wide as it glided on the air currents rising high into the misty sky, Jared watching it until it disappeared above the tree tops.

 

Jensen continued watching as Jared wandered across the lawn, bare toes wiggling in the grass, and the expression of a child seeing the world clearly for the first time. He leaned back on the bench, his gaze lifting to the sky, and whispered softly as a smile broke across his face. “Thank you, God.”

 

He turned back to where Jared stood, arms spread wide, and his upturned face lit by the morning sun that had begun to burn through the mist. Jensen’s laughter rang out clear and sharp across the wide lawn as he smiled. A new day was dawning, Jared was safe, and whatever sins Jensen may or may not have committed he felt forgiven for by a power that was far more forgiving than he’d imagined. Now his life could begin anew, a life with the man he loved.

**   
**


	14. Chapter 14

**Belo Quinto** **, Brazil** ****

**November 01, 2007**

 

Gold edged the peaks of the mountains in the distance as the sun rose in the east, the sunlight reflecting off the roofs of the village and catching on the bell in the church tower. A black SUV meandered down the main road into Belo Quinto and stopped in front of the church, dust curling up in the chill dawn air. The driver’s side door opened and Jensen stepped out on the hard packed earth, his gaze lifting to the sky, the storm clouds in the north reflected in the dark lenses of his aviators and he sighed. It had been a long exhausting trip over the mountains from Rio and he was ready to check into the nearest motel, hotel, inn, or whatever and sleep.

 

Crossing the short distance from the vehicle to the church’s main entrance, he pushed the door open, and stepped into the shadows. He lifted his aviators and rested them on top of his head as he inhaled deeply, the scent of spicy incense tickling his nose and smiled, then headed down the main aisle nodding at the elderly woman who was sweeping the worn tile floor. She offered him a toothless smile then went back to her task as he continued down the aisle. When he reached the front of the church, his gaze lifted to the statue that stood as a reminder of what he considered the most important turning point in his life, reddish black streaks flaking from its surface. So many lives changed in a heartbeat and now the statue stood as a sad testament to just what lengths any man might go when their faith was tested.

 

He shook his head as he thought of the chaos after he’d called the police back in Pittsburgh that morning that seemed a lifetime ago. Afterward he’d given up his collar under the stipulation that Lehne not only lose his own, but that they excommunicate him for his actions pertaining to Jared’s case. To be honest he believed Lehne had gotten off easy. The last he’d heard the former Cardinal was planning on pleading his case before the Vatican court in hopes of getting his foot back in the door. Although, the Vatican were a group of deceitful and political men at times they weren’t stupid. Fredric Lehne had not only kidnapped Jared, he’d performed an impromptu exorcism without permission, and he’d attempted to murder Jared as well. Jared had borne the bruises around his throat as evidence of Lehne’s crimes against both man and God.

 

Everything he’d been through now seemed a dream, but there was one last promise he’d made that he had to fulfill. Jensen knelt before the statue his hand splayed over the primitive carving of the dove that had haunted his dreams for the past month. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he removed the hunting knife from the case strapped to his ankle beneath the leg of his jeans and popped the blade. His gaze moved to the one tile that didn’t match the rest of the floor and he worked the blade beneath the edge, working it loose. Curling his hand around the edge, he lifted the tile up to reveal a cubbyhole beneath, a bundle wrapped in bamboo lying cradled in the cool darkness.

 

Jensen sat the tile aside lifting the bundle up and sat it on the floor. He replaced the tile and then tucked his knife away. Turning his attention to the bundle, he carefully unrolled it and pulled back the linen to reveal a treasure that needed revealed to the world. A leather-bound journal and a scroll of what appeared to be skin of some type lay side by side. Gently he unrolled the scroll ink faded with age spelled out the same message that Jared had once written on first a crumpled piece of paper in Italian, then on a wall in black marker. Rolling the scroll back up, he reached for the journal and flipped it open to the front page. Written in a shaky hand in English was a familiar verse one that he’d thought beautiful in the beginning, but now knew it was far more than just a pretty verse.

 

“Jesus said the kingdom of God is inside you and all around you.”

 

Jensen glanced up and smiled at the familiar whiskey voice. “Split a piece of wood and I am there, lift a stone and you will find me. These are living words of Jesus Christ.” He gathered the bundle and took Jared’s offered hand, allowing Jared to pull him to his feet. “I thought you were going to wait in the SUV?”

 

Eyes twinkling in mischief, Jared glanced up at the statue of the Virgin Mary. “You took too damn long, I got worried.” He studied the statue for a moment and hummed thoughtfully. “So this is where it all began.”

 

Stepping closer, Jensen worked one hand beneath the thick black pullover and settled it against the warm skin at the small of Jared’s back, his fingers tracing the now familiar design inked there. His gaze settled on Jared’s profile, and he nodded, his eyes bright with love. “Yeah, it is.”

 

“So do you think Father Singer is finally at rest?” Jared whispered softly as Jensen rubbed along his spine in gentle circles.

 

“If he wasn’t before, he will be now.”

 

Jared turned, his eyes focusing on Jensen’s face, and his lips curled in a half smile. “I suppose so.” His dimples deepened as he leaned in claiming Jensen’s mouth in a lingering, seductive kiss that had Jensen moaning into his mouth. Pulling back, he flashed a bright smile.

 

“What?” Jensen’s eyebrow quirked up in curiosity, “What is it, Jay?”

 

Lifting one hand, he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, his lips twitching as if he were trying to hold back a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know?”

 

Jensen frowned, his lower lip pushing out in an unintentional pout. “Come on, Jay.”

 

Suddenly Jared’s expression turned serious and his eyes shone bright in the sunlight that seeped through the stain glass windows. “I feel blessed,” he paused with a soft laugh and shook his head, “I never thought I’d ever say that again.”

 

“Neither did I,” Jensen replied, “I guess being a messenger of God isn’t so bad after all.”

 

Jared leaned in and kissed Jensen again, a sweet innocent touch of lips, and then drew back. “What now, Jen?”

 

“Vancouver.”

 

“Vancouver?”

 

Jensen winked as he headed for the door, “James and Kim are waiting for us---and this.” He lifted the bundle. “If we’re going to deliver the message we need to know what it says.” With a chuckle he took off down the aisle at a dead run.

 

Laughing, Jared raced after Jensen as he ran out the door and into the sunlight. As Jared reached the door, he stopped and turned back, eyes glittering with emotion, and focused on the crucifix above the altar. He took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you,” he whispered, “thank you for helping me find my faith again.”

 

He turned away and pushed out into the morning sunlight, laughter, and joy on his lips. As the door swung shut a dove glided down from the rafters and settled on the pew cooing softly, then it rose up to fade away in the shadows.

 

~Finis~


End file.
